The Past Concluded
by Solitary Confinement
Summary: Just months after meteor, Midgar is in crisis. A murderer is loose in the wounded sectors, and Soldiers are plotting revolution. Reeve, the Turks, and a few ex Soldiers are given a chance in the limelight to prove their worth to the new world.
1. One

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

**: The Past Concluded :**

**Segment One: The Hunters**

_February 8th, the 99th day post-Meteor,_

_The past week has been weighing heavy on my mind. The resurrection of Midgar has gone smoothly with the last of the sector four plate cleared and slated for recycling, but the work has gone slower than the previous two sectors. It may be that since this was a dense residental sector that the people are taking the time to recover the dead and find their living relatives. I don't remember the last count on bodies found on the plates, only that each one could have been saved if I had been stronger. If only I had warned them sooner._

_No. I can't let myself be burdened by the past. I did what I could, and now I have to look ahead so that this tragedy can never be repeated._

_The industry leaders are clamoring for additional manpower to be spared for their private works, adding to an already strained workload for the population. A final census hasn't even been made yet, but I know that only a few ten-thousand of us remain in Midgar. Outside help has been limited, most coming from Kalm and Junon Harbor in shelter and monies for temporary homes and medicine. Junon was kind to send their entire engineering corps to help us out, bearing most of the hard work with their heavy equipment. Wutai hasn't made a descision, not that I expected their help. I haven't recieved word from Dio about my proposal to include a tax on tickets to the Gold Saucer to help the recovery efforts. I doubt that he will agree to it._

_But, money is one of my lesser concerns. Crime tops them all._

_With the loss of the Shin-Ra corporation as a functioning entity, the financial stability in the streets is out of control. Price gouging is happening everywhere, and we don't have the manpower to correct it. People have been volunteering to clear the streets and to repair existing homes for shelter, but some are starting a labor union and demanding salary and health coverage for every man who picks up a shovel. Worst of it is finding those willing and honest enough to be deputized and work for the police division and help control this dilemma. People are literally fighting one another over ownership of materials, and some say that certain blocks are too dangerous for anyone to be in because of street gangs. Monster sightings get more frequent with every week that passes. This lack of coordinated security is making it hazardous to live in this city._

_Now something terrible is hiding in those dark corners of Midgar. One of the lieutenants acting chief of police has told me that he suspects a serial murderer is on the loose, evidence a part of his proof. Nine bodies in two weeks were found in sector three. The pattern is what scares me. Each body is found propped against a wall out in the open with no clothing on. There is no discrimination between men and women, age or physical appearance. The two constants in these murders are that the bones in the victims hands and feet are violently broken, and that their bodies have extremely localized third degree burns. One officer, an ex Shin-Ra security guard, testifies that only materia could cause that kind of damage to human flesh. He also said that it matches rumors he heard about the Soldier program, how to effectively torture an enemy combatant to get information without risking death or lethal shock. Clearly this was the practice taken too far._

_If those statements hold true, then it may be possible that an ex-Soldier has gone insane and began hunting his own people as if it were wartime._

_This, I suppose, is the only thing that would make me unearth the Shin-Ra Registry to contact some loose aquaintences._

_May the Planet have mercy on these people for a while longer._

_- Reeve_

_**---A Deeper Green, Sector Four**_

The inside of the bar was threadbare and sterile, lacking in any sort of personality that bars usually kept as a matter of pride. The liquor racks behind the counter were woefully empty, only stocked with cheaper drinks and local brews from nearby towns and cities. A dozen tables with mismatched chairs were scattered in a lower section of the establishment, candles and bare lightbulbs illuminating the surfaces. At the corner on a raised platform were the grooves and marks of where a piano used to be, where it was a mystery to all. Nails were naked on the walls, no longer holding pictures or memorabilia or shelves. A solitary clock above the door clicked to six in the evening, a mechanical chime alerting to the change in the hour. The door to the kitchen was missing, a bedsheet lazily nailed in the jamb acting as a barrier to whatever was in there. The smells coming from it weren't appealing, but none of the occupants were ordering food. Stale pretzels and peanuts sat in unused ashtrays, flimsy coasters supported worn glass mugs filled with beer, and shot glasses lined the bar proper with people scrying fortunes from their contents. No one was concerned with anything but getting away from reality as often as money allowed.

"Hey."

The barkeep, busy with something below, stood at the voice. He cocked an eye at the stark red hair of his customer. "What?"

"What's with this place? It looks like a mess."

The keep huffed, putting his hands on the counter. "Look, bud, this place's only been officially here for six days. Gimme a break."

"Well, that's what I mean! Why open if you aren't prepared?" The redhead motioned around himself. "The place works, yeah, but it has no style! No culture! It isn't even very _green_."

The keep leaned forward an inch, eyes dark. The wrinkles and sun darkened skin made such a glance even more threatening. "I'm workin' on it. Keep runnin' your mouth off and you can find somewhere else to go."

"I'll just keep running my tab, then. Another shot of whatever I had last."

"You got money?"

The redhead reached into his blue coat and pulled out a thick fold of gil, wiggling it to the owner. "Plenty."

The keep nodded and poured another three fingers of watery vodka, sliding it over to the customer. The redhead took the small glass and inspected it quietly, trying to see through the blur; he wondered if he could see the future on the other side. He tossed it back and stood the glass down next to his others, feeling the warmth linger down his throat and to his belly. The future, he mused, wasn't worth investing in anymore. Ever since Midgar was ruined and Shin-Ra became broken apart, nothing seemed worth his time except to drink and enjoy what was left of his money. What could a professional murderer hope to accomplish without the legal authority behind his every move? What was life without friends or family?

Shin-Ra. He had tried to find out what happened to the giant corporation after the Meteor disappeared from the sky, but it was no use. The evacuation orders cleared the building out, and for some reason, no one ever returned to the shattered remains of the tower. Power was out, even the emergency reserves, so it would be mad to hike up the fifty floors to reach the executive offices. He did it anyway. Nothing was functional, nothing was moving in the deathly quiet cubicles and hallways, only the howling wind accompanied his jaunt to the farthest stairwell that wasn't blocked by rubble. The stairwell to the fifty fourth floor was too choked with debris to clear, so he went back down the stairs and left for the sectors. Ever since then he had wandered from bar to bar, drinking his retirement away while looking wearily at the forbidding tower with a morose expression. He sighed, tired. When the money ran out, if the company wasn't alive and needing him, or none of his co-workers ever found him, then it might be a sign to move on.

A figure took the stool next to his, leaning on the counter with their elbows. The barkeep looked to the newcomer, and the figure simply tapped the coaster and said. "House tap."

Those two word sent a jolt down the redhead's spine, memories blown back to the surface. He looked at the person with hope pounding in his heart, defeatist logic souring his mind. Surely enough, a familiar face and blonde bobbed haircut smiled back at him.

"Long time, Reno," she said, voice betraying emotional turmoil.

"Elena!" Reno stood and wrapped his arms around her in an awkward embrace, her arms circling him in return. He patted her back and chuckled, sitting down. "Where the hell have you been? Wait, is-"

"I'm here," a third voice spoke up from behind him.

Reno looked back and saw an imposing figure standing with his arms loosely crossed. Sunglasses hid the man's eyes, but a smirk on his face told all the redhead he needed to know. He grinned and stood once more, giving the taller man a brief clap on the back. "Rude! Good to see you, man!"

"We thought you might be taking in the new colors," Elena spoke, taking a sip of her beer. "Where have you been?"

Reno looked back to his collegue and couldn't help but smile at her. "Been dreaming about your pretty pace, 'Lena."

She scowled, but broke into a fit of laughter a moment later. She seemed determined to be angry at him, but it wasn't working. "You bastard. We've been looking all over Midgar for you, and you've just been drinking! Why didn't you call us, or go to headquarters?"

He sat back down in his stool and shrugged. "I went back to the tower, but no one's been there."

Elena looked surprised. "You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"About the _new_ headquarters! Mayor Domino has been taking select people from Shin-Ra and giving them new jobs as city workers."

Reno was partly surprised. He knew that Domino had been using his title of Mayor to bring control back to the city, but he wasn't exactly forgiving of how the Turks kept his loyalty by threats or worse. Frankly, he figured Domino wouldn't even grant Shin-Ra employees a second chance, not after they screwed him out of his power for so many years. Now that he thought about it, what would Elena and Rude be doing with them at all? Elena wasn't in uniform, and Rude was always dressed in slacks and button down shirt. She looked at Reno from the corner of her eye, hands around the mug.

"Hasn't he called you?" Elena asked.

"Don't have my phone."

"W-What? Why not!?"

Reno shrugged. "Lost it. Besides, they don't work."

"PHS service was established in all sectors four days ago," Rude said, still standing alongside the two. "That is how Reeve contacted us."

"Reeve?"

Elena nodded. "He's been trying to get order in the streets. You've seen how things are, haven't you? It's almost like a war."

Reno rolled his eyes. "People will be people."

"Don't be an ass," she growled. "We've been helping to rebuild the city ever since day one, and you've just...wasted it like _this_! Don't you see that everything's changed? We can't just sit and wait for assignments, Reno. We can't...live like we did back then. People need our help!"

"Don't get preachy with me," he snorted, avoiding her eyes.

The silence stretched uncomfortably, and Elena sighed in frustration. "Look, since you aren't aware, we have a job to do."

"A job to do? Says who?"

"Reeve. He want's-"

"He ain't our boss, 'Lena."

"So what if he isn't!" She snapped. "Why are you being like this? You can't hang out in bars forever. We aren't going to get a call to kill someone and wander into headquarters to collect a paycheck every two weeks for being intimidating. No one is going to hire you for a bodyguard. We need to get ourselves settled and start helping rebuild Midgar!"

"Don't lecture me, Elena! I don't have to do anything I don't want, an' that includes rebuilding this hole in the ground. Hell, we aren't even _employed_. If it's so bad out there, let 'em fend for themselves for once."

"But it's important!" She continued.

"So's a lotta other things."

Elena slumped in defeat. She looked at him with pleading eyes. "...What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"Will you at least her me out?" She waited for him to speak, and took his silence to mean okay. "Well, Reeve said that there's a murderer somewhere in sector three who has been torturing people. He's been trying to bring the sector police back to strength to help with the crime, but they aren't any use. He said that the person might be ex-Soldier with a fire materia in his possession. None of the officers have a lead, and few of them want to even get near the guy. Reeve asked us if we could lend a hand in the investigation and the arrest when it's made."

"And you agreed," Reno added.

"Yes."

"You too, Rude?"

The man nodded.

"Reeve said that we would get paid," Elena went on. "He even found a place for us to stay at."

"Us?" Reno's lips curled to a racy grin. "You and Rude _together_, us?"

"It's not like _that_!" She blurted, face blushed red. "Honestly, Reno..."

The redhead laughed at her flustered expression. For the moment, he forgot about how the world had changed and felt like it was just another night out after work, throwing back shots and playing cards and pool. Elena was snickering at her own reaction, and even Rude had cracked a grin over his stoic expression. After so many weeks of wandering the sectors, he finally found the future that eluded his grasp. Reno leaned over to the occupant to his right and gave him a not too gentle pat on the shoulder. "Yo buddy, move it. My friend needs a seat."

The man looked at Reno and sneered with false bravado. "Why should I?"

"'Cause I'm a goddamn _Turk_, that's why!"

The man's eyes grew wide, ingrained fear of that name lurking to the conscious mind even though the title meant nothing in the new world. He stood, finished his beer hastily, and clumsily wandered down several stools. Rude sat in his place and Reno ordered two thick brews for themselves. Once the keep served them, Reno took up his mug and lifted it to eye level.

"A toast!" He said quickly. "To us, and everything else worthwhile in life."

"To us," Elena and Rude echoed.

They tapped their glasses against one another and drank them empty. The barkeep took the empty tankards and put them into the sink, then carefully leaned on his bar to place himself near the three.

"So you're...them?" The barkeep tried to keep up a front, but his voice quavered with fear. "The Turks?"

"We are! Were..." Reno replied cheerily. "Mister, what _is_ your name?"

"Dregg," The man answered.

"Well, mister Dregg, you just earned yourself three regulars from now on."

The owner looked mildly surprised, but narrowed his eyes regardless. "I thought you didn't like the place."

"Oh, it needs work, don't think that it doesn't! Only now it's proven to have good luck for me. You two like it?" He looked at Elena and Rude, and they both nodded their approval. Reno smiled with sincere pleasure, taking out his wad of gil and peeling away several bills. He slid them over to Dregg. "It's settled. A bottle of something stronger this time."

"Reno, we have-"

Reno raised his hand to halt her coming speech. "Elena, forget about the job. Right now, all I want to do is enjoy a drink with two people I've sorely missed."

Elena looked to spout several responses to his laid back attitude, but none of them made it to her lips. Dregg brought out three clean shotglasses and a bottle of imported liquor from beneath, setting them on the counter. Reno fidgeted with the bottle, failing to pry the cap off. He swore at it, and Rude took it and carefully unscrewed the cap and began pouring out the first round. The redhead didn't care that this would probably make him sick; this was tradition. For all the weeks he had wandered, sleeping in the streets and railcars and ruined homes, he only wanted to find somewhere to be at peace. Now that his friends were here, putting away the crushing pain of their likely deaths, and they had somewhere for him to live, everything he felt was missing just fell into place. He honestly believed for a moment that he could step outside and the world would be back the way it was.

"Reno...?" Elena leaned close to him, interrupting his thoughts. "Are you crying?"

"Tears of joy, 'Lena," He wiped his cheek nonchalantly, "'cause I'm finally home."

_**---City Government Office (Temporary), Sector Two**_

"Reeve, this wasn't my idea."

"I know, Mayor, but they _are _good at what they do."

"Can't you handle it some other way?"

"I would if I could."

"What about those people...you know, the ones you spied on?"

"I don't want to involve them."

"But this is a serial murderer, Reeve! It invovles anyone who this madman might target next."

"They have dealt with enough as it stands, Mister Domino!" Reeve placed his hand on his forehead, trying to concentrate on keeping awake. The past twenty four hours had seen a complete overhaul of the police directives, new laws enacted and to be enforced, and numberless debates with citizens seeking to add their two cents in as to how the new government should be run. Sleepless nights had become commonplace for him, trying to put all his effort into restoring order to the ravaged metropolis. He was nearly at wits end after this all-nighter, and now the mayor had to bring up this. It was too early in the morning to dig up those memories. "Look, the members of Avalance are dealing with their own problems. Captain Cid took many of them back to the Corel Continent and to their homes. Only Barret and Tifa are still here, helping to build homes in sector four."

"What of that ex-Soldier person?"

This was the most troubling of all personal matters he felt in regards to the separation of Avalance after Meteor had been stopped. Cloud, their proclaimed leader, just disappeared two weeks after the incident. There was no note, no indication that he would ever return from wherever he went. Reeve felt so troubled that he personally visited with Tifa to console her when the waiting became too much. Despite being a member by proxy, he felt the dynamics of their relationship as strongly as if he were there in the flesh. In part, his antics playing matchmaker at times through Cait Sith made him feel partly responsible for this tragedy.

"He's missing," Reeve finally responded.

Domino frowned, leaning back in his executive chair. "...Then that's it, is it? They're the best you can give me."

"Yes."

"I never trusted those Turks. They waited on Shinra beck and call, killed anyone he didn't like. They _murdered _people for only speaking the truth."

"They only did as they were ordered."

"But they still did the deed!" Domino twisted his face in a snarl. "Don't try and excuse them from their sins, mister Reeve! Those people are monsters, savages with no respect to the basic laws of humanity! I don't hold them any higher than I do this lunatic in my city!"

"...Yes, sir."

Domino reached out to a slip of paper on his desk and held it out to Reeve. Reeve accepted it and saw it was three series of numbers, one obviously for a PHS number, another a street address, and the other broken by hyphens. It took a moment, but he recognized it to be a specific location in Midgar according to the master blueprints of the city. If he recalled properly, then this would be several blocks to the north of them at the border of sectors two and one on the plates. He wondered about that, then figured it was merely for referencing the area.

"This is?" Reeve asked.

"You can see what it is," Domino snapped. "I wasn't expecting much from you, Reeve, so I made contacts of my own. This is where a former member of the Soldier program is living. That is her PHS number. Get in contact with her and bring her to meet with the Sector police so she can help stop this!"

"What about-"

"If it's those Turks you're worried about, forget it! I won't give them another place in this city just because of who they once worked for. Let them find real jobs if they remember how."

"So you'll allow a member of Soldier to help, but not a Turk?"

The mayor frowned at Reeve's attempt at logic. "A Soldier isn't a mindless killer, they have restraint and training. Those Turks have killed for any infraction they wanted, and they'll do it as often as they like."

"But they have the skills we need to-"

"I said _no!!_" Domino screamed, standing in a huff. His face was taught and red with anger clear in his eyes. "That is _all_, Reeve. Don't think that you'll keep working for me if you defy my ruling. You're just as much to blame for their crimes."

Reeve stood slowly, restaining himself from snapping back at the mayor. He worked for the President, yes, but that didn't make him as evil. He shared the blame for their rise to power and the social divide between upper and lower class citizens, but it was minute compared to others. It had already been three months and Domino was still raging against the shattered corporation. Worst yet was his own intoxication with the thought that Midgar might again flourish under his leadership. Revenge against president Shinra made him bitter and tough, not the sort of image a leader needed in these times. He slipped the paper into his shirt pocket and picked up his jacket. "Very well, Mayor. I'll get to it."

"Good." Domino sat again, looking strained and depleted. "Good..."

Reeve wondered how long it would be until the man admitted he was too old to keep working at this pace. It was taking a toll on his already poor health, and it would only get tougher as the months wore on. He hoped that the man would be able to adapt his vengeful energies to the strain of leadership once more.

"Good afternoon, Mayor," Reeve said while parting the office.

Outside the room, Reeve let his shoulders sag and felt the strain of the meeting further add to his headache. If there was only some way to get around Domino's authority to get necessary work done! The elderly man was insistent that he be involved in every little project that sprung up in the reviving sectors, doing his utmost to set schedules and demand outrageous feats of workmanship to people barely competent to use a hammer. He wanted statues, parks, wide and open public auditoriums for displaying art and history. Worst yet was his plans for a new city hall that would take even a company of veteran constructers years to complete. He held onto his power so tightly that simple things took much longer than needed, always inspected by his critical eye.

He took a deep breath and sighed, knowing that Domino would have to be tolerated for the meanwhile. He was stubborn and foolish, but no one else had the experience nor willingness to step up and take his place.

Reeve began walking to the stairs leading to the streets, slipping into his jacket and taking up his phone. He pressed in the numbers for the woman he was to enlist for the job, hoping the call would go through. He paused just by the door, wanting to keep the background noise of the city out of the conversation. He connected the call and waited as the other line began to ring. It quickly dawned on him that he didn't know the name of the person he just called. He was about to cut it when the other end picked up, a sigh preceeding any words.

"Atma," she said as an introduction.

Reeve thanked his lucky stars for that. "Miss Atma?"

Another sigh told of annoyance. "So I said."

"My name is Alexander Reeve, and-"

"So your the guy I'm expecting."

"Did-"

"Yes, the mayor said that you'd be calling. Said you were going to fill me in about the killer in sector three."

"Yes."

"What's the mission? Is it just a kill, or does he need to be alive for trial?"

"I thought we might talk about this in person, Miss-"

"Just call me Atma, Alex. I'm not what people would call a miss."

"Right...Atma. The mayor gave me an address, so can I meet you there?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll be there in...twenty minutes?"

"Sure."

"Then I'll-" Reeve stopped, hearing the line cut when she hung up. He stood there a moment, flustered that she cut him off every time he tried to speak. Was she that dominant a personality, or was it just being rude? He closed his phone and put it back into his jacket, then stepped outside and into the morning sunlight. He shielded his eyes as he scanned the horizon, always humbled that the sun once again shone on this tortured soil. Three months and you could tell that the sky was blue, that clouds could be a color aside from brown and black, that life on the ground was worth living. Even if Midgar was abandoned tomorrow, the work they accomplished was more than he could hope for.

-----

The walk to meet with Atma was eventful. People were working in droves to repair the damage done to their homes, and new ones were springing up like wildflowers. Dirts roads were being paved and lined for construction and personal vehicle traffic, and existing roads were being patched into shape for continued operation. With plentiful raw material from the plates, older housing was being cut down and newer, modern homes were built in their place. Pipes were being lain everywhere to carry drinking water, sewage, electrical wiring from the last functional reactor, and drains for the eventual rainstorms in the spring and winter seasons. An entire infrastructure was going up before his eyes, a system he took for granted on the plates and their prefabricated neighborhoods. He stopped at some apartments and took lists of needs from the managing engineers, taking the time to listen to their stories. Things were moving slow, but getting better, and the future looked brighter than the sun.

By the time Reeve came to the street where Atma was, it had been thirty minutes since the phone call. After asking around, he found her address and saw that it was one of the new apartment buildings that were sprouting up to meet the shelter demands. They were small, often one room homes with shared toilets that were only built well enough to weather a few years occupation. Better homes would be made in time, but this was still a godsend to those who lost everything to the Meteor. He stepped into the building and went up a flight of stairs, smelling freshly cut wood and the scent of plastic and paint. The hallway was plain and without decor, doors lined in neat rows with numbers block painted above the jamb. He went to the appropriate door and knocked three times.

"Enter," her voice demanded, loud despite the barrier.

He took the knob and opened the door and was surprised by Atma once again. Directly across was an open window, and only a single lightbulb was lit in the middle of the ceiling. A futon was beneath the window, sheets and pillows and clothes piled onto it. There were several shelving units with specific holes in the frame along the walls, each supporting a standard Shin-Ra semi-automatic rifle. Pistols were hanging by pegs in the ends of the shelves, and a stand alone coat rack had several vests and jackets, bulletproof to Reeve's imagination.

In the middle of this was Atma herself, legs spread to shoulder width and arms lifting bulky iron weights. She looked at him and, despite knowing she was once of Soldier, instilled fear in his gut with her glowing purple eyes. Reeve took her in as a whole, seeing toned limbs and a tanned body dressed in track shorts, sports bra, and sleeveless tee. Her short platinum hair was tied back behind her head, but a single lock stood purposefully across her forehead. She didn't even break stride in her exercise when Reeve entered.

"You're late," she commented, eyes staring right at his own.

"I'm sorry."

"Close the door."

Reeve did as she said, feeling nervous about the weaponry around him. He glanced around and saw that these gun shelves were packed tightly together, probably home to nearly fifty rifles and as many pistols. Atma didn't stop lifting her weights while he stared at the armaments. Together it would be enough to rival the sector police's own stock.

"Where did you get these?" He asked in awe.

"Took them from the tower. After it was over, the door to the security armory was wide open; had to make sure no one got ahold of them and cause trouble." She gently set the weights on the floor, then took a rag from her pocket and wiped her face down. "They're locked."

"Hn?"

"Trigger locks, so you can't fire them."

"Right, that's...very good of you."

"So what can't we discuss over the phone?" She asked, standing at ease.

Reeve was a little frayed at her to the point attitude, plus his own sluggish thoughts from so little sleep. He took a quick breather and tried to compose himself. To start, he stepped forward and offered his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Alexander Reeve, but you can just call me Reeve."

She accepted the gesture and shook his hand with a tight grip. "Delita Atma, Soldier second class, one hundred and tenth division. Atma will do."

"I hate to sound upfront, but do you want to get some coffee before we go? I'm nearly asleep on my feet."

The humor clearly went over Atma's attention, but she nodded. "Okay. Turn around."

"Huh?"

"We may be working together, but that doesn't include a peep show."

"R-Right!" Reeve blushed lightly, but turned so she didn't see his reaction. He stood casually, but his ears burned with the sound of cloth shifting on cloth and on skin. His mind made up for a lack of visuals with lewd ideas, and he strained to get his head out of the gutter. He looked directly ahead at the door to the hall; it, too, was also used for weapon storage, this time wood dowels holding knifes and several varieties of short swords. He didn't know if this was typical of someone from Soldier, but even for a person adapted to war this seemed a bit much. Was she a collector, or were they all for active use? What kind of a person was she?

"I'm decent," Atma said.

He turned and saw her pulling on a weathered black leather coat over tee shirt and tattered demin pants, the butt of a pistol sitting in a hidden holster. She walked to a nearby shelf and took out another pistol, unlocked it with a key, then slid it into a holster clipped to a belt. She tied the belt around her waist, then walked toward Reeve. Her shoulder brushed his as she stood by the door and selected a buck knife from the rack. She secured it to leather circlets on her belt so that it was snug to her waist. A narrow dagger she strapped to her ankle, poking from her pant leg for easy access.

"Ready?" She asked.

"...Yes." Reeve answered, tempted to ask why she was arming herself so heavily. He resisted that temptation.

Atma opened the door and motioned for him to step into the hall. Once they were in the hall, she locked the door with a simple key. She then took it and hung it around her neck by the small chain looped in the holes of the key.

"Do you know a place that has coffee?" Reeve asked the once Soldier.

"One block down. Don't know if it's good, I hate the stuff."

"Is there something else you'd like? Tea, or something?"

"Water will be fine." She looked at him with those eyes, and Reeve finally noted that she was nearly as tall as he. For a woman this was uncommon, but somehow it fit her perfectly. She frowned suddenly, crossing her arms. "Let's get this out of the way, Reeve. I've been a fighter all my life and plan on staying that way. I'm no prize, and I'm not one to go on a date. I don't like being treated special because of my 'talents' as a Soldier, or because I worked for Shin-Ra. Give me food, drink, respect that I will share mutually when earned, and payment for my work. No more, no less. Anything else would only be a burden to me. You understand?"

He nodded once. "Yes."

Atma suddenly placed a hand on his arm and looked him dead in the eyes. They seemed to glow brighter than before. "Are you certain?"

Reeve was a little curious about her insistance on these needs, on being treated like so. Few people were so spartan in these days that being confronted with it was more than unusual. Was it just a result of being in the Soldier program, or was it something more? The questions about this woman numbered higher than those he had about the serial killer. "I promise to remember, Atma."

At this she seemed a little relaxed, smiling lightly. "Thank you."

_**---Sector Police Headquarters, Sector Three**_

Within the network of desks and cabinets that made up the main floor of the department headquarters, a special area was visible to the naked eye as being different from the others. It was large, had boundaries that could be defined by paths and the arrangements of tables. This area had a large glass writing board at one end, a table in the middle, and chairs scattered along the edges with a coffemaker taking center stage. The writing board was covered in scribbles, the table buried in papers. Clearly seen were the faces of eleven people, all of them from post-mortem inspection. Words and arrows were drawn around these faces like an intricate sigil, one that only a select few could decipher.

When the appointed department chief walked into this place with Reeve and Atma, the office grew a little quieter. The chatter and voices came to an eerie standstill when the man took a single white paper in his hand and taped it to the writing board. A face looked back at them all, eyes closed and face stiff in uneasy peace. It was evident to them all that the murderer had struck again, a twelvth soul stolen from their hands. It took nearly a minute for the din of voices to regain their previous strength, so shaken by this force that haunted their turf. The officer stared back at the victim, arms tense at his sides. Reeve, with Atma behind him, waited.

"No more," the officer swore under his breath. "Not ever again..."

"When was he found?"

The officer looked back to Reeve, frowning in anger. "This morning, four hours ago."

"God," he shook his head.

"God doesn't have anything to do with it, mister Reeve, it's Shin-Ra and those damn freaks they made! I've already had to deal with too many of them as is. They're a plague that'll kill this city if we let them! Who knows how many of 'em are still hiding out there."

Reeve looked at Atma as the chief went on a tirade, and she was surprisingly calm. He expected her to at least be offended by being lumped in with monsters, or even to defend their actions. Instead she stood silently with her hands tucked behind her in military ease, expression showing nothing of her emotions. Her eyes, however, followed his every movement.

"Worst yet is that madman Domino telling me to work with one of them!" The chief spat the words out like a poison, eyeing the woman he targeted.

"That's enough, Varik, she-"

Varik stepped forward and placed himself directly in front of Atma, using his height as best he could to intimidate her. "How many people have you killed, girl?"

Atma returned his gesture with her acute glare. "Thirty two in an official capacity, six unofficially."

"Is that admitting to murder?"

"It's admitting to defending myself against those who thought I would be easy prey."

Reeve stepped in and took Varik's shoulder, trying to get the chief to step back from the argument. He quickly found his own arm caught in Atma's tight grip, his nerves wincing and his fingers uncurling from the chief's shoulder. The Soldier focused her eyes on him again, her expression the same when she made her demands at the apartment.

"Don't," she spoke calmly. "I regret nothing I've done."

"I should throw your ass in a cell," Varik threatened. "Just because Domino said you'd help me doesn't mean I can't arrest you."

She released his hand and resumed looking at the chief. "Show me proof of my crimes."

"You just admitted to them!"

"Admission isn't compensation for a lack of motive, victim, or a weapon."

"Enough!" Reeve barked, nearly stepping between them. "Atma, you can't argue emotions with logic. Varik, she's going to help bring this man in regardless of what you say, so tough it out. Are you really going to argue this when a killer just struck again?"

Varik looked ready to burst, face a shade of tomato red. Reeve knew that he was short tempered and fiercely against Shin-Ra's influence in the force; in the past the sector police was so oppressed by Shin-Ra that it was a miracle that it survived to the modern day. Even with the corporation finished, the stigma was as strong as ever. It would be many years, or even a full generation, until that word no longer made people angry by pavlovian response. The police chief looked upset enough to carry that grudge to his grave and the afterlife.

"Get her out of my sight," he growled.

"She needs-" Reeve hesitated when he saw her move in the corner of his eye. She was already walking back towards the lobby of the building. "Hold on...!"

She lifted up her hand without faltering in her step, cutting his words off. Reeve watched her until she passed through a set of doors to the streets, and then he turned back to the taciturn officer. "You shouldn't treat people that way, Varik."

"Then I've done nothing wrong."

"Quit insulting her! She hasn't done anything worse than you have."

"Don't compare that bitch to me! I'm nothing like her!"

"She killed people under orders and when she had no choice, only because she was a soldier and had that right. If you call her a murderer, then you'd be exactly the same."

"So you're gonna defend one of Shin-Ra's little pet monsters? Have you forgot what they've done to us?"

"I am!" Reeve admitted sharply. "Shin-Ra is dead, Varik. The Soldier program went with it, so she isn't one of them any longer. We can't afford to let the past blind us to potential allies. I used to work directly under President Shinra, and I've already moved on so I can help rebuild this city. She's doing the same. Are you going to stand there and keep believing that everyone affiliated with Shin-Ra is still out to control the world?"

"Shut up! I don't need to be preached to. I'm not going to forget all that Shin-Ra did to us at the drop of a hat. That place bred wicked men, Reeve, and they won't give up just because they lost their power. Give them an inch and we'll be begging for their scraps just like before!"

"That's what I mean! Have you looked outside, man? What is there left for someone to manipulate!? There isn't anything left for them to steal, and there won't be for years! Midgar has to pick itself up before someone can shove it down."

"So you say," Varik sneered.

Reeve sighed, frustrated beyond his limit. Bigots like Varik were what he feared in this delicate time, people who would cling so hard to old prejudices that it dragged anyone near them down. Everyone needed to cooperate to make this city livable once more, and those people hurted the process more than they thought. Disasters could change anyone for the better, and this was the worst in recorded history. A world without Shin-Ra was a daunting prospect on it's own, but this was in a league appropriate for old religious texts. Wiped clean, would the people choose to better themselves or stagnate back to the same evils and problems they faced before? Varik and his ilk would surely be a challenge to overcome when it came to the point.

"You gonna keep bitching at me?" Varik asked.

Reeve looked around, noting the silence in the precinct. Eyes stared at him, expressions showed distain for his ideas, and he suddenly felt very vulnerable. It dawned on him that this was the worst forum to blurt his ideals of peace and unity.

"No." Reeve grabbed a chair and sat. "Let's get this started."

"Didn't Domino assign you any other people?"

"Not yet."

Varik slapped a palm onto the table. "Then what good is this meeting?"

"Just give me the details. I can tell her the rest."

Varik gave Reeve a disapproving look, but relented in his venting and started gathering papers from the table. After shuffling them around, he moved over to the writing board and pinned a finger at a person near the top.

"This is the first victim, only known as Harken to locals. He was living in an abandoned building by himself, probably a drifter. There was a lot of bags and small materials in his space, so we assume he just moved from another spot. Investigators know that our killer entered the building from the only door that was across from the victim's bed. We've been putting our effort into finding out exactly what he did to Harken to try and find his pattern. You already know the usual: broken fingers and toes and burns on their bodies. What the media doesn't know is what we find on each of their right hands." Varik pointed to a smaller picture below the shot of the man's face, a definite mark on his palm. "The number ninety nine written in blood, presumedly theirs."

"Ninety nine?"

"Yeah. We have no idea what it's supposed to mean, but catalogued it anyway. Every victim has it on their right hand, never anywhere else."

Reeve felt his pulse jump when a sudden connection ignited in his memory. "It's Jenova..."

"Jenova?"

"The Jenova Project! Every Soldier that was used in that program had a number tattooed on their right hand! It must mean that this ex-Soldier is connected to it!"

"But I thought that all those guys went nuts after General Sephiroth returned and killed the old President?"

"No, there were exceptions." This was serious. He knew that people who underwent this test were driven mad or unstable. During his time with Avalanche, he saw Cloud's entire breakdown after he was thrown into the lifestream; he saw Jenova force him to do things against his will, even cause him physical pain. Red XIII was also part of their test, but he didn't seem affected at all aside from his hatred of all things related to Shin-Ra. The others were driven insane to join the Reunion with their 'mother' at the Northern Crater, or became so unstable that they just babbled in madness. If one of them was still alive, still functional to survive on his own, he would be very dangerous. "I know two of them personally."

"So you think he's one of them?"

"It's possible. I don't know the details about the project...but I could find out. If I could use the master rolodex program in the Shin-Ra computers, I can look that number up and see who it is."

"Would you need to go to the ruins?"

Reeve nodded. "I would, and I'd need a generator to power a terminal."

"How soon?"

Reeve looked at the chief with a surpised face. "...Now! As soon as you can. This could be more dangerous that we think."

"How dangerous, Reeve? What are we looking at?"

"You have to be strong to get into Soldier. To survive being injected means you have to be _very _strong. It's like the elite of the elite in Shin-Ra's forces."

Varik frowned deeply. "That's just fucking great. Is there anything else I should know about them?"

"Probably, but I couldn't say."

"Couldn't or won't?" The chief shot back.

"Don't start that again, Varik."

"You worked for the bastards willingly, Reeve, so forgive me if I don't treat you like a saint."

"Just get a generator ready. You can hate me all you want after we stop this killer."

"Oh, I'll make certain you get what you've earned." Varik took a clipped number of papers and folder and offered them to him. "This is a brief copy of our investigations into each murder. I hope you and that bitch can find something in there we can use."

Reeve snatched the papers with a scowl, feeling sincerely angry at the chief of police for his blatant insults. "Thank you."

"I'll make arrangements for that generator as soon as I can. How much power does this terminal need?"

"I don't know...enough for a personal computer? Maybe more."

"Forget it, I'll just bring the biggest one we can find." Varik shook his head sadly. "If we could just use reactor three to get power over there..."

"We can't. It would take weeks to lay a power line to the tower, weeks we don't have."

"Don't patronize me! It's gonna be hell to find a generator that isn't being used for something else. That's the only thing that Shin-Ra ever did right, giving us all easy power."

"We'll just have to make due."

"The same as usual, mister Reeve. I'll call when we have it."

"Thank you, Varik." Reeve stood and tucked the papers into the folder, then offered his hand to the acting chief of police. Varik glanced at the hand and then at Reeve, then clasped it tightly and briefly.

"Good luck," Varik murmured with a grim expression.

"Good luck," Reeve replied.

_**---Somewhere in Sector Three**_

The sounds were everywhere, but at least they were quieter in the deeper parts of the abandoned neighborhoods. All this construction and renewal made it tough to find a place to relax in, a place to keep to ones self. But, eventually, it would all be taken and reborn. The old would be burned and purged from this world and covered by a shiny new fascade to ease the people's worries. People would come and go, and the visible scars would heal. There were already flowers in the cracked patches of earth, soil buried beneath concrete and stone for so many years and only now exposed to the sky. A person could look straight up and see the blue sky instead of the brownish haze from the industries and the reactors and the plates. A person could breathe deep and not choke from the smog. A person could walk down a darklit street and not be afraid of faceless goons or assassins out for his life because he stood against the majority.

But the mental scars would still be there.

_He_ would still be there. No one would ever deny him his existence, not anymore.

Those others who tried to place themselves as his betters were shown otherwise. Even now he expected the footsteps of sector police to come, for someone else to push their laws on him and their authority. He expected the future to try and erase him, a memory of the past, like they did to so many others; but he would not allow himself to be pushed aside and buried.

No one had authority over him. No one. Try and keep him from what he wanted, and he would fight you to the death for it; the laws of nature were the only ones he paid respect towards. Survival of the fittest ruled in the sectors, and he was fit for gods.

"I won't bow to anyone," he murmured to the shadows.

A cat hopped onto the windowframe and into the empty room, silent and graceful. It was a lean and ruffled tomcat, colored like the clouds and striped with silver lining. It strode over to the person and nosed around the small things sitting by his waist. The person waved an arm at the feline, warding it off.

"Nothin', furball," the man muttered in a throaty voice.

The cat paused and sat on its haunches, waited a second as if considering the words, yawned, then began grooming itself vigorously. The man sighed, leaning farther against the wall and the crook of his arms behind his head. The cat had been there ever since he showed up, always looking for something to eat. It caught rats, though, and seemed fit enough on that diet. Better it ate them instead of them nibbling at his things; that was probably the only reason he let the thing hang around his hole. He felt more familiar with animals and simple survival than people and their complexities. The man took a deep breath, held it in a moment, and exhaled it slowly to relax his muscles. That last one had been too old and croaked nearly as soon as he caught him.

"Younger," he muttered, closing his eyes to rest the day away.


	2. Two

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

**: The Past Concluded :**

_What can a guy do? You put your soul into the business and it goes bottom up before you can get out with all your money! Must be bad karma._

_But at least I've got my comrades again. The world seems like it could be better with them around. It might not be pressuring the local powers and getting paid rich for it, or even killing for a paycheck, but it's more than I had when it was over. Except now she's saying we have work to do with some ex Shin-Ra suit and Rude is going along with her for God knows what reason. That girl can't function unless she has someone barking orders at her to do this, do that. I guess whatever security firm she came from got her trained like a dog. When is she gonna learn to relax and let what happens happen?_

_Fuck. Why am I worrying about it? Life's done me worse and left me lower._

_Heh, friends and beer and a haunt. If I can find some easy work and get paid for it, then life is good._

_- Reno_

_**--- E Street Apartments #114, Sector Four**_

"So this is your place?" Reno looked around, trying to form an opinion of the settings and finding himself lacking one. The front door lead right into the living room with the kitchen separated by the line between thin carpet and cheap plastic tile. A hallway shot off to the left, probably to bedrooms and bathroom, and a window was opposite him with maroon curtains drawn closed. A strip of halogen lights illuminated the room from one end and a lamp from the other. In the middle of it all was a thick looking table and worn chairs, the surface covered in coasters, a deck of cards with chips, and an ashtray. Together it appeared older than dirt, and thick with use and memories.

"Yeah." Elena replied, sliding her jacket off.

"It's...nice."

She huffed at his comment, hanging it on a peg by the door. "You could at least lie better than that."

"Alright, so it's cheap looking and small. Happy?"

"Yes." She began walking to the kitchen. "Beer?"

"Heh, I take it all back." Said Reno with a grin.

She opened the refridgerator and tossed a chilled bottle his way. Reno caught it with little problem, thankful it was a screw to open brand that would be cheap and potent. He cracked it open and took a hearty chug and sighed, satisfied. Nevermind that it was morning, anything to take the edge off was a welcome companion to him. The night had passed in drunken reverie, only a few hours spent in sleep in what passed for a motel. The hangover from that was still lingering, but a hair of the dog would settle that soon enough. Rude, who had followed in silence, was untying his shoes by the door and unlacing his necktie when Elena offered him a drink. They congregated by the table and sat, the silence a force of it's own only broken by the hum of the fridge and the creak of floorboards from the next story up.

"So..." Elena spoke towards Reno. "What are you going to do?"

"About what?" The redhead asked.

"About the job."

The job. Reno was still a little uneasy about the concept, that he would be taking orders from someone who didn't know a thing about the Turks. Reeve was just a suit for the president's beurocracy, filed paperwork and did a little spying if need be. It was Tseng that pushed him to play the role of Cait Sith, confidant that the man wouldn't do anything stupid and could be trusted to keep his role a secret from everyone. His honesty was what made him so easy to manipulate into doing it, even though he fled ship at the last second and abandoned his job. But the man was determined and had a backbone; even if he wasn't cut for this work, it wasn't as if there was a line of others more suited to it. Better a half-wit than a complete idiot. But still, he was uncertain. What kind of job was this lining up to be? Kill a murderer for starters, but then what? What freedoms was he going to sacrifice this time around?

"Hell if I know." He replied absently.

"What else are you gonna do? Go back to drinking all day?"

"Who said anything about quitting that?"

"Be serious, Reno. Reeve needs us to help stop that killer. Every day we wait means someone else could die."

Reno sat in silence.

"It isn't something we can easily ignore." Rude spoke up, having lit a cigarette. It seemed he was the one to make a steady habit of that indulgance. "These people are not criminals, just survivors of the incident. Letting this man kill as he pleases will only hinder the city's recuperation."

"I've already said that they oughta take care of themselves."

"But we need to help if we can!"

"For what?" Reno looked at Elena with a stern expression, willing to dig at the heart of the issue now that he felt sober enough. "Sure, we'd get paid to do it, but _why_ should we? Why should I put my life on the line for them? If this guy is ex-Soldier, why not fight fire with fire?"

"The new chief of police has been arresting Soldiers for any crime he can place on them, hoping to contain them and keep the populace safe from the threat they pose; ironic, that they are so thinly spread about the city and without motivation. The sector police is not equiped to deal with a military trained, mako injected killer."

"So we're their last hope? That's great."

"So why won't you help?" Elena demanded. "Rude and I are. If you did, then it would be like old times again."

Silence again.

Elena scowled, slapping her palm on the tabletop and leaning forward to the redhead. She looked genuinely upset. "Reno!"

He turned his head, not wanting to meet her eyes.

"Dammit, do I have to force you into this?" She lifted her right hand and ticked off her facts on her fingers. "Look, you need the money. You also need a place to stay unless you want to sleep in the streets. I know you miss how things were, and this would be just like it. You aren't a coward, and you aren't an idiot!" The palm slapped onto the table again. "What other excuse is there!"

The silence stretched on longer than he thought seemed possible, the tension thick enough to choke on. Reno looked at Elena, meeting her blistering blue sight and trying to get her to back off from the issue. But every second they looked at one another, the more it seemed that she was serious about this. The intensity of her will was surprising. She was never this persistent about anything since he met her those months ago, fresh in uniform and jittery enough to pass out. Had she really changed so much since the incident, or had he never noticed this side of her before?

He broke the contest with a grunt, taking up his beer and chugging several gulps down. He wiped his lips and rested his arms on the tabletop. "...Do you know why I drink, 'Lena?"

"Of course I do." She said.

"I mean the _real_ reason." He corrected.

"That one, too." She smirked in confidence when Reno looked at her with an eyebrow arched in amusement. "What, you think I haven't seen drunks before? You drink because you want to forget about the kind of life you lead. You want to suppress the emotions you feel towards it. I've been feeling guilt build up 'cause of what we do since day one, and it hasn't been any easier to forget." She sighed, seemingly deflated of her previous arrogance. "We've done atrocious things. You've done more than I could imagine. No one can go through life with that kind of burden on their shoulders and expected to stay sane. Drinking to forget, even if it's only a while, helps keep the pain at bay. You forget the tragedy, the anger, the fear, that the next mission might be the last one...everything."

"Sounds like psychobabble to me." He scoffed. "Right out of a book."

"Sector Seven."

Those words struck Reno like a physical blow, his fingers tightening on the bottle in shock. The memories laced to those words came flooding back, numbers and screaming and statistics and plans and tears. Suddenly the cold sweat of sleepness nights and nightmares made his palms clammy, a chill running down his spine. Of all the things she could have said, that was the last thing he expected.

"That was low." The words came like a growl from clenched teeth.

"It got your attention." Elena snapped back. "Are you going to let this lunatic roam free? Give him a few months, he might come close to what you've done."

"Don't fucking compare me to that shit!" Reno shouted. "I did it because Tseng ordered me to! We all did shit because of orders!"

"Then why not do something _good_ for a change! Or do you want to be remembered as a Turk who killed a whole sector and never repented for it?"

Reno stood up and stormed over to the door, though listening to her dig up the past. If she was going to guilt him into hunting this killer, then it wouldn't be worth the effort. Elena stood as well as Rude, but she was first to pursue him and throw her hand on the door to keep him from leaving. She slithered herself in front of it, trapping Reno where he stood. Her expression looked mixed between outrage and nervous fear.

"We're going to help. Are you going to let us do this alone? Do you want to be remembered as a heartless killer who didn't even care about his own friends?"

"Let me go, Elena."

"Not until you answer me!"

Reno slammed his palm onto the door, fingers pinning a stray lock of hair beneath his thumb. Her image faltered, revealing fear in her eyes, but she struggled to hide that weakness. Nothing she would do would change his mind, but her resolve was unbroken; maybe the incident had changed her to lead instead of follow. Maybe that was why he was upset at her, that his memories of her didn't match the woman who stood before him now. "Move."

"I won't."

"Let him go, Elena." Rude spoke up suddenly from beside them, ever passive to their arguments.

The two looked at their quiet friend, his expression masked by his sunglasses. The cigarette was forgotten between thumb and finger, ash building on the tip. It was clear that he was troubled over their argument, which was rare. He always preferred the role of the silent arbiter when it came to their shouting matches, offering facts and logic when asked. Reno wondered whose side he took in all this. Elena spared a glance at him, looking betrayed.

"But Rude...!"

"It's his choice to make. We need to report to Reeve soon." The man looked at Reno, eyes peering like daggers from above his shades. "If he wants to waste his life sulking, let him."

The blonde was conflicted between his logic and her own feelings, but the seconds proved that it was useless to argue like this. She slowly stepped away from the door, and Reno lowered his hand to take the knob and twist it open. He stepped into the hallway, but a hand grabbed at his own and held him still a moment. He looked back and saw Elena again, but this time her expression was genuinely hurt. Her eyes looked close to tears, and again he couldn't place a time when he saw her like this. The past twenty four hours had shown him many sides of her that he never recognized before. It almost made him feel guilty.

"You have a home here...so don't run away again." She begged. "Please..."

He snatched his hand away from her and walked to the door leading to the outside. Pushing it open let in the sounds and feelings of the world, and the heavy thoughts from within were cut away when the door closed behind him.

_**--- Outside Sector Police Headquarters**_

Reeve wanted to apologize to Atma about how Varik dismissed her as a criminal and insulted her repeatedly, but her expression and stern reminders about their work relationship halted those words before they came near his throat. They sat at a local sandwich shop popular with officers and silently read the reports given to them. True to her word, she only ordered a sparse meal that was dwarfed by Reeve's six inch pastrami on rye. She ate quickly and ordered nothing else, containing herself to scanning the papers and adding notes on the side with a borrowed pen. She was diligent about her work, and entirely focused on it; his small talk didn't amount to anything other than a glance from the papers. However, Reeve could tell she wasn't at all ignoring those around her. Every sudden movement in the cafe attracted her eyes for a moment, clearly deciding if they were a potential threat or not. The waitress serving the floor was distressed by Atma's discerning stare at first meeting, and was wary each time she stopped to check in on the two.

Reeve was nearing the end of his ability to find information in the report. He wasn't at all used to investigating a killer, or trying to think of a pattern that one followed. Sure, he plied through paperwork enough during his time with Shin-Ra, and he was definitely in the company of murderers with and without legal authority at their disposal. He had followed a madman across the continents with Cloud and the others, but he was just added strength and never led. He could tell a few things about the case. It was obvious that the killer sought anyone within Sector Three's deeply affected blocks, probably for the lack of eyes and ears to overhear. But, he asked himself over and over, what was the reason for it all? Why did he choose the people he did, and what did they have in common if anything at all?

"I think there's a pattern."

Reeve looked up at Atma with a start. "A pattern? What is it?"

"looks like he's taking people from certain places in three." She continued. "Of his twelve victims, nine of them were seen frequently at two street intersections. Three of them lived in the same neighborhood that is near the median between the intersections." She looked at him from the report. "You have a map?"

"Erm...no, I don't."

"Know where there is one?"

"There's a detailed one at my office, but it's all the way in sector two. I could go back to the sector police for one. Why?"

"So we can set up a search grid starting from that block."

"But what are we looking for?"

"The killer, or his prey. If we can monitor his territory, then we can catch him in the act."

"But we need to stop him _before_ he kills again, not after!"

"That's impossible." She rapped the papers on the tabletop. "This doesn't have enough info to do that. If I had more I could do better."

"Varik said those were brief..."

"Then we need to go back."

"But-"

"Varik will just have to deal with me if he wants the killer stopped." She shuffled the papers into a neat pile and handed them to Reeve. "The evil you know over the evil you don't."

He recieved them and placed them into the report folder, then took out his wallet and counted fare for the meal and tip. Leaving the money on the table edge, he stood and left the eatery with Atma at his side. It was a short two blocks to the station, the streets lightly busy with foot traffic and the rare vehicle retrofitted to run without mako. The homes and businesses here were noticably better off than those in other sectors, clearly due to the presense of the police and the funds dedicated to it's maintainence. The people, too, seemed in better spirits and health. Construction was still the common theme throughout the neighborhood, but this one wasn't nearly as needing of repairs. Reeve recalled that this sector made it out the best of the eight, which was fortunate as it was being occupied by the homeless until new ones were built in time. The sector police headquarters was also spared much damage from the incident, retaining a solid and strong front to remind everyone that there was still law and order in this city.

They stepped inside and proceeded to the center of the floor where Varik would be working, plying clues and notes for some secret to be used against the killer. Reeve waited a few steps away until the chief acknowledged their presense, but Atma had no such desire and instead went right to the table and rapped her knuckles on it to get his attention. The chief looked up and was immediately unhappy, excluding that he always looked that way.

"Why the-"

"Where are the full reports on the murders?" She asked.

"The...I gave you the reports!"

"Which Reeve admitted to being brief copies. I need the full reports, all the details and notes from the investigation."

"Those are classified for officers only, girl."

"I need them to-"

"I said they're _classified_. Are you stupid, too?"

Atma hesitated a moment before speaking. "To find this killer, I need those reports."

"And what, leave the entire search up to you? Not gonna happen."

Reeve stepped forward finally. "Varik, what if-"

"You aren't getting them either, Reeve. Don't think I'm stupid. The mayor placed you into this investigation because of your connections, not because I wanted you here. You'll take what you get and do what I say. Got it?"

He stumbled over words, trying to keep from letting his anger get the best of him. "You're jepordizing the lives of thousand for policy!"

"It's my job to follow policy! I can't let two civilians do all our work for us!" Varik stood in a huff, pointing towards the door. "So either give me something to work with or get out of my station!"

"There's a pattern to the killer's method of killing." Atma provided.

Varik looked at the ex-Soldier with a sneer. "Is there?"

"Give me a map."

The police chief motioned to a map posted on the glass board with the killer's victims, and she stood in front of it. She took a moment to orient herself, then put a finger onto a spot. "Here." Her finger slid to another point. "Here. These two intersections. Nine of the twelve victims were seen frequently at those places. Three lived between them."

Varik studied the map, idly rubbing his nose. "I see..."

"So?" Reeve pried.

"It's something, okay? We've narrowed it down to several square blocks...so we'll post units there and start searching."

"What-"

"You two," He snapped. "can just sit back while we work. Don't bother to stop by again, Reeve, I'll send that generator to the mayor." He settled back into his chair and delved back into the reports. "That's all."

"Varik-"

"That's _all_, Reeve."

Reeve sighed in frustations, turning to leave. He took a few steps before noticing that Atma was still standing where she had been. Her stance looked the same as it ever was, but something in her eyes hinted at her emotions. It seemed like she was struggling to maintain her calm attitude.

"You won't give me the full reports?" She asked the chief of police.

"No."

"Not under any circumstances?"

"Only if you and your kind did us a favor and dropped dead." He looked up at her with a malicious smirk. "Except we wouldn't have to worry about this psycho, then, would we?"

The ex-Soldier didn't flinch at the insult. She turned and walked away from him. "Very well, then."

Reeve followed her as she left the precinct, wondering just what they were going to do since Varik cut them out of the loop. Without any additional notes on the murders, they couldn't make any more progress on the killer and his pattern of work. From what he could tell, Varik was more than willing to completely keep them out of the investigation so long as Atma was a part of it. He didn't even lessen his hate when she found information in one afternoon that none of his officers had seen in the days since the killings started. Reeve wondered if he ought to involve Domino into this and make the chief turn over the full details so they could put an end to this spree, injured pride put aside. He looked at Atma briefly when she stopped on the sidewalk, waiting for him. She didn't look at all upset.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"I'm very angry." She replied without the venom of the emotion.

"You are?"

"I don't let it affect my performance. Wouldn't do any good on the battlefield. But," She clenched her hands tightly. "there are times I wish I could let it all out rather than keep it bottled up."

"Why don't you?"

She glanced his way, curious.

"No one said you have to stay calm all the time."

"My teachers did, as did my instructors and my officers. Being a Soldier means you don't let petty anger control your actions."

"Except you aren't in Soldier anymore."

She shook her head. "I am a member of Soldier. What was done to me cannot be changed, nor can who I am."

Reeve expected that much from her. Even though he knew her for only a few sleep deprived hours, she was predictable in her professional attitude. Apparently being a Soldier stripped away more than fear from your mind. He could only nod at her assertion.

"We should go."

"Go where?"

"Where the killer targets his victims."

"But-"

"The mayor hired me to stop this killer. I don't need to work with the police to do that."

"Except-"

"There is no exception, Reeve."

"Would you let me speak!" He snapped. When Atma regarded him with silence, he sighed. "Sorry. What I meant was, if you're going to start looking for him now, then take the report. I'm gonna crash soon whether I want to or not." He reached into his pants pocket and took out his wallet, then slid out a business card and offered it to the woman along with the folder. "This has my PHS number and address. Call me if there's an emergency, or I'll see you tomorrow morning."

She accepted both. "Right."

"Good...morning, I guess."

"Afternoon." She corrected him, turning and beginning the walk towards the troubled streets of sector three.

Reeve watched her as she crossed the avenue and turned down a corner, disappearing from view. He took a deep breath and sighed, wondering just how it was possible for someone to be so inpersonal to another human being, even if they were once part of the Soldier program. Of course, he might be taking it all the wrong way to his exhausted mind. Rather than debate it, he turned and started his own numbingly long walk to sector two and his apartment and the comfort of a worn down mattress.

First, there was business to attend; he needed more coffee to survive the trip.

-----

Reeve very near collapsed at the door to his apartment, shuffling his feet and blinking long and slowly. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, securing it and growling at his exhaustion. He kicked off his shoes and undid his shirt and tie, flinging those onto his reclining chair. His keys and wallet he deposited onto a table in the center of the room along with his phone. He unclasped the belt from his waist and draped his pants on the back of the chair, then proceeded to his bedroom. He tugged the sheets loose and crawled into the comfort of cotton and wool. A glance at the clock said that it was almost half past noon. He chuckled at the concept, then turned over onto his back and slid quietly into a dreamless sleep.

-----

There was a sound like something buzzing, like some monstrous pissed off wasp. It quit, but then started again with the same intensity. Reeve tried to consider what that sound meant while semi-awake, unable to process a clear thought. When the buzzing ended and a sudden melodic ditty began ringing throughout his home, he realized it was his phone. He shuffled out of bed and reached out to the incessent device, flipped it open and put it by his ear.

"Reeve." He announced groggily.

"What took you?" A female voice asked. "I've been trying the last five minutes."

He got to attention quickly at her tone. "Elena?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry, I was asleep. It's been a long day."

"The day's almost half up, though."

"It is?" Reeve looked into the kitchen where his radio clock calmly noted it was a quarter to five. "Yeah, I guess it is."

"Uh-huh."

He sighed. "Okay, so what's up?"

"We found Reno."

She didn't sound thrilled at the idea. "You did? Where was he?"

"Drinking, as usual."

"That's great! Not his drinking, I mean, but that you found him."

A sigh came from the other side of the conversation. "He isn't going to help, though."

"He isn't? Why?"

She huffed. "He wouldn't say why. He just blew it off and said people should take care of themselves. He wouldn't even stay long, he...just took off when I tried to reason with him."

"Was he upset?"

"I don't know."

"Does he have his phone?"

"He said he threw it away."

"...Well that's great."

"I told him to come back if he needed a place to stay. He doesn't have anywhere else to crash."

"Well, that's all we can do, then." He tried to think of some way to convince the stubborn Turk to help them, but it seemed like a hopeless effort. Reno was always independent and did as he liked, even when Shinra owned him. Trying to force him into a mission would only piss him off even more, and they didn't need him skipping town and disappearing permanently. "I guess we'll just have to do it without him."

"Will it be okay?"

"We'll be fine, Elena. The mayor had an ex-Soldier brought into the job."

"Ex-Soldier?"

"Yeah. Her name is Delita Atma, a second class Soldier, I think."

"Haven't worked with them before."

"She's..." He considered her personality. It wasn't exactly sparkling. "A professional. We can depend on her."

"If you say so."

"She's already investigating where the killer might be finding his victims. We should meet so you two can catch up."

"Okay. There's a diner by our apartment, Pretty Birdy. Want to meet there?"

"Is it safe?"

"Safe? It's the usual stuff, bar and decent food, nothing hazardous."

"I meant safe for _us_."

"For...oh, you mean that. Yeah, they aren't really anti-Shin-Ra. I don't think they'd recognize you. They don't know us."

"Okay. I'll meet you there at six."

"Why that late?"

Reeve chuckled. "Gotta walk. I really should get a bike or something."

Elena snicked just once. "See you at six, then."

"See 'ya."

Reeve ended the call, then set the phone back on the table. He really wished that the trains were back in running order, but without additional electricity, they were stuck. He didn't even want to consider how many kilometers of track needed to be inspected before a train could use it without being derailed. Ironic that he was once city planner for the entire plate system and now he wasn't even referred to for advice on how to rebuild. Not that it mattered, they had to get the basics up and running before they could delve into a luxury like public transportation. He went into the bathroom and relieved himself, then combed his hair into a semblence of order and brushed his teeth. Once done, he dressed and took up his phone to contact Atma.

She sighed before responding. "Atma."

"It's Reeve."

"And?"

"I'm going to meet with Elena and Rude at a local bar so we can talk about the mission. You should come as well."

"Who are Elena and Rude?"

It dawned on him that he completely forgot to mention them. "Two members of the Turks. They were..." He trailed off.

"...Were?" Atma prodded.

Reeve realized again that Domino wasn't in agreement with having the Turks involvement in the mission, that he wanted nothing to do with them. Sleep deprivation had really robbed him of his common sense. The mayor would surely fly into a rage the instant he found out that Reeve still kept them as members. But, Reeve knew that they were willing to participate and go after this killer, and that their expertise in this kind of field would be invaluable. He couldn't just tell them that the deal was off and to find something else to do, not after doing so much to set them up with a home and a potential job. The debate as to their use would just have to go on, and they would need to be kept in the know until it was certain one way or another.

"Reeve." Her voice cut through his train of thought.

"They're part of this investigation."

"Okay."

"We're meeting at the Pretty Birdy at six 'o clock. Can you-"

"I'll be there."

"Thank you."

"Right." She cut the line.

Reeve closed his phone, then put on his shoes and gathered his wallet and house keys and left his apartment for sector four.

_**--- Pretty Birdy Bar and Grill, Sector Four**_

The Pretty Birdy was an impressive establishment for being around for so many years, even when the plates were overhead and the land around it in poverty and disarray. It rested at a corner of an intersection and had a large leeway between it and the streets, allowing for ample room for foot traffic. It stood two stories and was well lit, several windmills spinning lazy circles on the roof like artificial flowers. The walls were painted dull white and clean looking, not marred with dirt or grime or graffiti. Windows were wide and had no drapes to block the view, currently closed and sealed against the wind and cold weather. The entrance was wide open, double doors pinned back to allow the atmosphere to extend into the public and invite passerbys to stop in and enjoy themselves. What was most impressive of all was a great wooden deck extending around the front and side of the building, tables and chairs arranged and crowded as people enjoyed the fresh air. Oil fueled torches lit the place, placed evenly along the railing that separated public from private ground and also mounted on the walls. As Reeve neared it, he corrected himself in thinking it would be another hole in the wall dive.

As he stepped inside, he was surprised again as a well proportioned woman nearly threw herself into his arms in greetings. "Welcome to the Pretty Birdy, Sir!"

Reeve backed up a step. "Thank you, miss."

"Are you by yourself or with a party?" She asked.

"I...think some friends of mine are already here."

She smiled and waved him on. "Well, feel free to find them."

Reeve smiled and proceeded inside, wondering if the other waitresses were that bubbly of personality; it felt like a tired cliché that every restaurant had at least one on staff at all times. The interior was more colorful than the outside, themed with reds and blues and literally plastered with years and years of memorabilia from everywhere imaginable. A bar proper made up the center of the floor, tables and booths circling it. Two doors led to the deck, and the kitchen was to the right with a sort of window view to see the cooks as they worked. It felt like a typical place you'd find in the commercial district on the plates, not something in the slums. Reeve looked around for the turks or Atma as much as he did to admire the sights and the sounds of the place. It took a minute, but he saw the three of them at a corner table with drinks already ordered.

"Hey Elena." He announced.

"Oh, Reeve. Glad you could make it."

He took an open seat next to Atma, facing the turks on the other side. "Thanks. How are you?"

"We're okay." Elena spoke for herself and Rude, then looked over at Atma. The ex-Soldier was almost dead stiff in posture. "Your friend there isn't really the conversational type, though."

"Uh-huh."

"She gave us the reports and her notes." Elena motioned to them in the middle of the table. "She said she made no progress with the locals."

"Oh?"

"None of them are long time residents, so they couldn't say if someone didn't belong." Atma replied. "Being newcomers, it would be easy to blend in. The killer was deliberate to take people from there."

"Did you learn anything else?"

"No one knew the victims personally that I interviewed."

Reeve sighed. "Well, it's only been a few hours. I wasn't expecting you to find him right away."

"The reports didn't really allude to much." Elena stated. "It's mostly guesswork and rumors from what I read. Hasn't anything concrete been discovered yet?"

"Only that the killer writes the number ninety nine on their right hand."

"Hn. I'd love to think that he was just some leftover from Hojo's experiment."

"Do you know anything about the project?"

She shook her head. "Not much. I know it wasn't public, and it's been going on a long time."

"Thirty years, I believe." Rude continued. "It was what led people like Sephiroth to become so powerful. The drawback was that the success ratio was low, near five percent according to rumors."

"So...he might be one of the failed ones?"

"Possibly."

The story sounded familiar. Reeve knew that Cloud was frantic about being a failure, especially when he broke down at the northern crater. Thinking about it, a memory rose up about that incident. Cloud was losing it, Jenova was tormenting him so he would willingly pass the black materia to Sephiroth in whatever he was trapped in. He pleaded with Hojo, begged to be acknowledged...and to be given a number. "Hold on. I remember that Cloud asked Hojo to give him a number at the Northern Crater, but he lashed out and said a failure didn't deserve one. That means only someone who was a success would get a number."

Elena nodded. "Yeah?"

"So...then it means that this killer must be a success." Reeve sighed. "If only we could look up information at the tower. We could check military records and see if he was involved in any missions. Hell, I just want to know _who_ he is at least!"

"The tower is worthless, through."

"I know, but the chief of police said he would send a portable generator to Domino so we can power up a computer in there and look."

"But where would you find one?"

"That's the catch. There might not be one that we can use."

"Well...crap, that doesn't leave us with much." Elena muttered. "Can't we meet with Domino and speed things up?"

This prodded another problem into the spotlight. Reeve took a deep breath, wondering what to do about that. "We can't."

"Why not?"

Reeve shook is head. "Look...Domino said that he doesn't want to have the Turks involved in this case, and I don't think the police chief does either."

Elena looked at Reeve with exasperation in her eyes. "But you said we'd be in this! You got us a place and pay and everything!"

"I know, but I did this all before I talked it out with the mayor. I thought he would agree, but he still thinks you're just killers who won't obey anyone but Shinra."

"Shinra is dead, Reeve!"

"Tell it to Domino, then! I told him you are the best at this sort of thing, but he wouldn't have any of it. It must be a personal grudge, else he wouldn't have brought Atma into this. He said that a Soldier can follow orders, but a murderer can't."

"That's fucking bullshit and you know it."

"I know!" Reeve held up his hands. "I'm just the messenger!"

Elena slapped a hand on the table, aggrivated. "Did you talk to him about it?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"This morning, but-"

"Call him again and tell it like it is!"

"He wouldn't be there, not this late."

She sighed loudly, long moments passing. "Well, what are we suppose to do then, huh?"

"I'll talk with him tomorrow."

"What if that doesn't work!" She waved her hand right after that outburst. "No. I'm sorry, I'm just pissed off. I was expecting that we could get a stable job and be done with it. Domino's just using this as an excuse to get his revenge."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She took a large gulp of her drink and growled. "So what can we do, then?"

Reeve pondered the question, having thought of it since he woke up from his nap. Domino was definitely not going to let them work on stopping the killer, and wouldn't spare them any sympathy for their plight. It wouldn't surprise him if he snatched away the apartments that Reeve allotted them, claiming they were only for members of the investigation. They certainly wouldn't be getting paid by the city at any rate. The debate started again in his mind: would he just give up and send them away, or could he try and keep them on in secret?

"Reeve?"

"Let me think." He asked. His logic ran in circles trying to figure this out, probing for an out. He couldn't just tell them good luck and evict them into the streets, it would be cruel and against his word. However, Domino wasn't going to let them do anything in regards to the case, and arguing seemed to be a no go with the man. He boiled it down further to see the factors involved. Domino wanted them out on bias, he wanted to keep them for talent and a promise for shelter and employment. Domino controlled the shelter and job, the Turks had their talent, and Reeve his promise to them. It eventually came down to money, which wasn't a surprise. He brought up the numbers of his private savings and decided.

"Okay...I'll pay your rent and salary."

"You'd...? No, you can't do that."

"I can and want to. I promised you that I'd find you a job and a place to call home. Working on this case did both until Domino screwed you over. If I pay for your expenses to keep you working on the case, who says I need to tell him? There won't be a money trail for him to follow, and he can't pry into my private bank records."

"But still, it's _your_ money you're talking about."

Reeve snorted. "I was paid a lot to work for Shin-Ra, and even more when coerced into playing the part of Cait Sith. It won't be much of a burden."

"But all the records were lost when..."

"The tower was attacked, yes. I was planning to leave the company, so I transferred my money to Junon. It was only a few days before the meteor appeared and they froze their assets to stop a market crash."

Elena looked surprised, a smile on her lips showing after a few seconds. "That's pretty low for a leading company executive to do."

"Considering who it was from, I don't regret it."

"How much did...no, I shouldn't ask."

"It's enough. I was planning to retire to Costa del Sol one day, but I guess I'll just make due here."

Elena fumbled for words to argue against his case, but she fell silent. Rude stirred. "Thank you, Reeve."

"It's no problem. I can't let Domino decide this and risk more lives because you two weren't there to help."

"Dinner and drinks on me, then." Elena insisted. "I'm not that poor yet."

-----

Later, after dinner and drinks and casual banter and the sky lost it's color for the inky darkness of the night sky, the group opted to call it and night. The crowd at the grill had become large and boistrous, many barflies regailing stories to the delight of their sloshed bretheren; without television, there were no fanatics shouting at the screen for their preferred choc to hug the turn tighter at the race. It was noted that two bouncers were standing within earshot of the entrance, trying to hide themselves in shadows and neutral clothes, just another reminder of the environment the place existed in. The four stood in the illumination of the bar to make their separate ways.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" Elena ran her hand through her hair.

"Probably. I'll make a copy of that report for you and Rude."

"Thanks."

"Goodnight."

"G'night."

Reeve and Elena turned to begin the walk back to their homes, then both noted that their counterparts were still standing by one another and stopped to see what the matter was. Atma was looking Rude's way, but the Turk's shades masked where he looked. Before either could ask, Rude spoke.

"Can I ask you something?"

Atma nodded. "Yes."

"You were part of operation black mambo?"

"Yes."

"Kurashido block?"

"Yes."

Rude nudged his shades up the bridge of his nose. "I see."

"Fujiko House?" She asked.

Rude nodded.

"I understand."

The two turned and began back to their homes, passing their confused partners. Elena didn't speak a word, only fell in with Rude's long stride. Reeve followed Atma as she walked by. He wondered what that exchange was about, what this operation was and what those names meant. The ex-Soldier didn't seem affected by them, but the solmen questioning almost made it feel like a taboo subject to talk about in the open. He pondered it for a long minute, then got up the courage to ask.

"Do you know Rude?"

"No." She replied evenly.

"Then-"

"It's nothing." She said tersely. "Don't ask me again."

Reeve abandoned the questions, bobbing his head at her demand. It seemed that she might have been more important than she let on if she knew someone like Rude when Shin-Ra ruled. The Turks hadn't done any newsworthy operations for a few years, save the concealed one that brought down the sector seven plate. He had never even heard of a time that they worked alongside Soldiers for any sort of task, the two departments were too different for such a thing. After a minute of thought, he reminded himself to follow his own credo, to forget about the past and work for a better future. He put the conversation behind him and considered the matters at hand.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder.


	3. Three

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

**: The Past Concluded :**

_So much has changed, yet it all feels the same._

_Without Shin-Ra to guide Midgar into the future, it seems that the people aren't capable of doing it themselves. All our struggles have been to assemble homes and shelter, to divide up the parcels in this ruin to fair and equal parts for every man and woman. Certainly they have their freedom, and it is a good thing, yet I cannot help this sympathy I feel when I see them unable to wield it as it was meant to be. It may be my own foundering concept of freedom, of no longer being leashed to the will of the President, that makes me feel as such. Despite it's evils, Shin-Ra protected these people from an uncertain future. It gave them support, however meager, and left this generation to take it for granted. Directionless, and lacking control. Unmotivated to better their lives._

_Domino is correct in his presumption that people can only be strong when they have a strong leader._

_Tragic, then, that he is unsuited to lead by his own assertion._

_- Rude_

_**---South Gate, Sector Four**_

The atmosphere around the sector was morose and solemn, not that it was of any shock; the people of the slums had lost many friends and family members when the meteor wrought its havoc on the plates and the delicate homes below. Ever since they had been trying to unearth the rubble and to honor the dead, to rebuild something from their broken lives, here especially at the entrance to the still ravaged fifth sector. Domino, followed by a first class Soldier dressed as a business aide, found himself between emotions in this place. He felt guilty that the city was ruined because Shinra refused to evacuate them when it seemed inevidable that Midgar was to be struck, but also proud that he finally had a chance to correct those errors and prove himself to be worthy of his title. As always, he put up a front of collected wisdom for those who recognized him in the streets, greeting the few who approached. However, there was one person whom the mayor was seeking specifically in the streets.

"That is him." The aide annouced, looking just inside the cleared gate to sector five.

"I know." Domino replied, taking measured strides to meet with the person leaning on a fallen hunk of metal. He was barrel chested and muscled like a bull, arms crossed but not well enough to hide the mechanical traces of a fake limb. He watched Domino from the corner of an eye, but otherwise showed no sign of activity. When they were close enough to speak, the mayor folded his hands in front of himself and tried to look placid and mannered. "Hello, mister Wallace."

"An' how-de-do to you, mister mayor." Barret snorted.

"I'm glad you decided to meet with me."

"I'm a busy guy, Domino, so get to it."

"Right." Domino nervously smoothed his tie. "You've heard about the murders happening in sector three, correct?"

"Yup."

"And how we think this person might be ex-Soldier?"

"Yup."

"We've been gathering people who have knowledge on how to fight a person such as this." Domino gesticulated towards the man. "I'm certain that Reeve asked you if you would help, but I thought I might see you personally. Would you be willing to help us catch this killer?"

Barret sucked air between his teeth, then sighed briefly. "Nope."

"May I ask why?"

He suddenly turned and scowled at the mayor. "Why the hell do you think? You think I ain't got enough trouble here, huh?" He pointed to the sector with his gun arm, the metal glinting in the sun. "It's gonna take a long time to fix this up, an' now you want me to leave? Forget it!"

"But this man has already killed twelve people!"

"So what! That many people're dyin' each day 'cause they don't have homes or food. Someone's gotta help _them_!"

"This is more important than that."

Barret nearly collided with the mayor as he stepped close and roared at him. "More important! The fuck you on? You even know what's going on out here? You want me 'ta just up and leave 'em on their own?"

"We have evidence as to his pattern and his territory. All we need is the manpower to bring him in!"

"Look, I'm gonna be honest here. Right now, I don't give a shit. All I want is to rebuild my home and help people do the same. If you need manpower, get some of those Shin-Ra fuckers 'ta do it for you. I'm sure a man like you still has influence with those scum."

Domino frowned, tried of patience. "I wouldn't dare seek out Shin-Ra exfiliates after what they've done."

"Then what's with him?" Barret nodded towards the aide. "Those eyes say he's Soldier. Ain't he part of Shin-Ra, too?"

"Members of Soldier are an exception. They aren't unwilling to change affiliations or wont to betray for power."

"You're fuckin' crazy, Domino."

"No, I'm trying my hardest to unite this city so we can purge it of undesirables and make it livable again!"

"Well, good luck on that."

Barret turned to leave, and Domino stepped forward to plead his case. "I need your help!"

"We all need it." The burly man scoffed, walking away from the mayor and past the gate.

"I thought you were a leader, Barret! I thought you of anyone would understand why we need to work together to stop evil like this!"

"I've had enough of leadin'." He answered loudly. "Was never good at it, anyway."

Domino let the words die on his mouth as he saw that the man's pace wasn't slowing at all, and that following him didn't look like it would help matters. He had been so hopeful that one time leader of Avalanche would be willing to help, especially since he knew these slums better than most people did. It would have even meant having others along with him! But all that was lost to his irrational, stubborn defiance. The mayor let his scowl harden as Barret rounded a curve in the gate and disappeared into the sector.

"Well played." The aide commented.

"Be quiet." Domino snapped, immediately taking out his phone and speed dialing his office. It rang twice before his secretary picked up.

"Mayor's office."

"It's me, Estrella."

"Mister Domino?"

"Yes. Get the directory and start looking for other candidates. I'm on my way back."

"How did-" Her voice was cut short as he closed his phone and began stalking back towards his electric powered towncar and driver. It was going to be a long and arduous task to bring this madness to an end.

-----

"Just how many of you are there?" Domino asked.

His aide, no longer adorned in business finery but slacks and shirt, regarded the mayor with his luminous brown eyes. "Of first class Soldiers, there were eight hundred spread throughout Shin-Ra's divisions. Second and third class numbered approximately four thousand."

"That many?"

The aide nodded. "Yes."

Domino was surprised at the knowledge. When president Shinra finally ousted him from his official office as mayor and left him to manage petty city records, all his contacts and sources shriveled away until he was left with nothing. For years he worked in oblivion to the machincations of Shin-Ra, hardly ever privy to the secrets of the executive office. It was only by collecting little snippets of rumor, and the hard work in forging friends in high places, that he learned of how badly the company raped his people of their freedoms and money. An electric company to a government with an iron handed control over everything, it's army willing and capable of waging war against anyone who impeded on their progress. He never truly understood how far their reach stretched until they fell apart.

"Where are they all now?"

"Many died because of the meteor. I do not know how many survived the incident. Nomrally two thousand are stationed here, but are unaccounted for. Five hundred Soldiers were stationed in Junon, the same in Costa del Sol. The rest are likely distributed throughout other cities of importance."

"Is there any way to contact them?"

"The Tower was our home, our center of operations. If someone was needed, Shin-Ra managed all communication, kept secret all PHS numbers. Unless we recover the mainframes, there is no means to contacting them save arriving to a base in person."

"Would they listen?"

The aide pursed his lips. "I cannot say. There may be a few still loyal to the chain of command, which would place you and Alexander Reeve in control of all Shin-Ra assets and arms. The vast majority would seek this as an out and return to their homes, abandoning their duties, or to become awol and turn to crime. Three months of no contact would leave very few willing to return to active status."

Domino made a disappointed hum.

"Do you have such little confidence in the sector police?" The aide asked.

"Truthfully, they aren't at all capable of hunting a rogue Soldier. Criminals, yes, but not a trained and experienced soldier."

"I have offered myself to help in the search. That offer still stands."

"No, you're needed here."

"For?"

"Protection."

"Against?"

"...Anything. Anyone. I'm certain there are people who hate me for not stopping Shinra while I could."

"While unlikely, I-"

"It's a realistic danger, Eberhard, and one I will not ignore. Besides, with a member of Soldier at my side, it shows a spirit of cooperation with the remnents of Shin-Ra and the new government."

"But not all of Shin-Ra." Eberhard remarked. "People find it strange how you value the members of Soldier and not others."

Domino motioned to the aide. "You worked for Shin-Ra, but your loyalties were to the company, not the man. When he died, you stuck to the company and to it's remaining executives, myself and mister Reeve, as you've said. Those who were loyal to the man himself were corrupt and evil, and they deserve no pity, nor will their get it."

The aide regarded Domino with a frown. "That is weak reasoning."

"It is accurate. You're a perfect example, as is Reeve."

"Not-"

"Don't." Domino snapped. "I've given you a chance at a new life. Don't made me reconsider it."

Eberhard frowned deeper. "Very well."

"Do you know where there are any other Soldiers in Midgar?"

"No."

"Then continue searching."

The aide bowed slightly at the waist. "As you wish."

_**---Merchant Corner, Sector Three**_

The normally busy intersection of two streets was eerily quiet, the number of people on the streets and the number of vendors with their carts at a low that hadn't been seen in nearly a month. Two large police trucks were stationed at the entrance to a street, one at the beginning and the other further down, both with their red and blue lights flickering and spinning around to paint the walls and windows in colors. A few officers were directing people away from the scene, a small gathering of onlookers peering beyond the truck and to the mysterious going ons down that lonesome avenue. Other police were talking to nervous and panicky individuals, taking down notes and comforting them with promises and hopes. Two people stood by the alleyway, one stooped on her toes and the other watching with a detached expression.

"Well?"

The woman looked back, brushing a lock of deep black hair behind her ear. "It's his work, alright."

"Shit." He swore.

"Varik, this is getting out of hand..." She commented.

"I know that!" Varik spat and looked back at the body. "How did he die, Zera?"

"I don't know for certain, yet." She regarded the stiff, his eyes open and staring into nothingness. "It wouldn't surprise me if it was organ failure. Some of his victim's just...gave up, shut down just like that." She snapped her fingers to accent the speed.

"Well, that's just great." He snorted in frustration. Two policemen appeared from farther down the alley, both wearing rubber gloves and carrying bags on their shoulders. Varik looked at them, and they didn't seemed pleased. "Anything?"

"Nah." One of them replied. "There's junk all over the place. I can't tell what belongs and what doesn't."

"Any personal items? Blood?"

"No."

Varik growled. "Alright. Let's get this guy to the morgue."

"Should we call off the search?"

"No." He looked down the alley, deep into the darkness between the walls and the streets and homes thereafter. "He's out there. If he's watching, better let him see that we aren't giving in so easily."

"Okay."

"Widen the search parameter to eight blocks."

"Yessir."

Varik turned and stormed away to one of the trucks, coroners present to take the body away for examination. He felt his blood at a boil, hands tight and desiring the chance to strangle the madman and feel his flesh break and his neck snap and his life seep away into the gutter where he belonged. How many people would he kill before he finally was stopped? How many other Soldiers would go nuts like him and start killing at random? It would only take a little longer before the entire city was cowering in fear of lunatics on the prowl. The animalism displayed by the Soldiers he had arrested was more than proof to show they were monsters, lower than humans, undeserving of pity or second chances; that he was supposed to work with one made him all the angrier. Domino had to be insane to let Shin-Ra have any place in this new age.

His phone rang from his shirt pocket, and he snatched it out and replied in an angry huff. "What?"

"Sir, you need to come back. Now."

"Why?"

"Someone just showed up looking for his brother." The other end paused a moment. "We think he's seen the killer."

-----

The interior of the precinct was quieter than normal, people carrying on with their routines as normal but always with an ear turned towards the boy and the officer who was talking with him. They had nearly taken on the task of interrogating the child when he first stepped inside, terrified and looking more afraid of the police than the serial killer. He meekly asked someone for help, that someone kidnapped his brother and that he didn't know what else to do. After they sat him down and began asking the usual questions, he admitted that he saw the act itself. When they took down the specifics, someone realized that they were familiar and looked at the case on the killer. They matched with a previous victim, picture and all. The boy fell apart on the spot, and had been wailing in the arms of a female officer when Varik raced inside like a thunderstorm.

"Where's the kid?" He immediately asked the nearest officer. He didn't wait for the reply, seeing the boy at a corner desk, and hustled over while trying to collect himself and put on a friendly face. He didn't much like kids, especially the ones that were all tears and fears like the boy looked. Desire looked tired of the sight already. The boy was sitting on a chair with his face slick and eyes red.

"He's-"

"Yes." She nodded.

"What's his name?"

"Will."

Varik nodded, then took a deep breath and prayed for all the patience the planet could spare. He grabbed another chair and sat down near the hiccuping boy, leaning a little. "Hey Will."

The boy sniffled, looking up at him.

"How are you doing?"

"I-I'm okay..." He wiped his hand across his nose.

"That's good. My name is Varik, and I'm the chief of police for the city." He struggled for the proper words, hoping to keep the kid calm. "Miss Desire said that your brother was kidnapped?"

"Uh-huh."

"Does you momma and papa know?"

"They're gone...my brother was takin' care of me, an' said we had to...to look out for each other 'an I had to be good while he worked."

"Where did your brother work?"

"At the homes on yellow bird street."

"What did he do?"

"He was a...carpenter. He cut wood. He always smelled like sawdust."

Varik nodded. He saw Desire taking down notes as they were revealed, coyping them and passing them to others so they could reference the street and the crime scenes. He was glad she was on the ball, as was everyone else. This could be the break they were looking for, or the start to one.

"Okay." He steeled himself. "Will, you think you can answer some other questions for me? Like who kidnapped your brother?"

The kid nodded weakly.

"Are you sure?"

He repeated the motion.

"Okay. Can you remember what he looked like?"

"Sort of." The kid rubbed his hair back. "He was tall, 'an looked all muscley."

"You remember what color his hair was?"

"Black."

"His skin?"

"Brown, dirty."

"Did you see his eyes?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Did he have any scars or tattooes?"

The kid raised a finger to his face and dragged his down his cheek. "He had a red line here."

"Anywhere else?"

He shook his head.

"Did you hear him say anything?"

Another shake.

Varik nodded, then patted the boy's shoulder. "Okay. You did really good, Will."

The child nodded, face unexpressive.

"Desire, get him with Lor so he can sketch out a mugshot. I want a face to the bastard."

"Yessir. What then?"

The chief rolled his eyes, wondering why she had to ask that. "Find him a boarding house."

Varik stood and went back to the table where all his planning has gone without fruitition. He looked at the map, checking throughout the streets in search of yellow bird. It took a minute to find, and the road stretched throughout the sector and ran straight through the general mess of pins where the bodies had been found. The boy's lost brother was found just a few blocks away from yellow bird. The chief felt a grin tug on his lips. Depending on where the apartments the guy worked at were, they could estimate the distance the killer would move from the kidnapping spot to the drop off for the body. It would give them a much needed radius to work with, and, after placing that radius around each body, the territory their killer called his home.

_**---Somewhere in Sector Two**_

Yukio ran as fast as his legs would allow in the clogged alleyway, feet diving into open patches of dirt so he didn't slip on refuse. His arms pumped back and forth, angled outwards to provide additional balance. His heart pumped furiously and his lungs burned with exertion, but it wasn't trying his limits yet. He had the endurance to run this pace for a few kilometers before he tired, and even that wouldn't slow him greatly. A figure, little more than a shadow in the darkness between ruined homes, would have to be tough to outrun his pursuer. Yukio suspected he was only third class, and probably a weak example at that. Still, Holt and Lari were tailing him down parallel roads, blocking his available routs and forcing him in a direction of their choosing; it was always best to be on guard, especially when dealing with their own kind on the run. Soldiers tended to reflect wild animals in their reaction to being chased and cornered.

The prey suddenly bolted to the right, and Yukio knew it was the end of this pursuit. He slowed down and reached into his jacket, pulling out and extending a riot stick. The metal clicked into place, and he turned the corner and assumed a defensive position in case the victim was trying to be sneaky, but the person was still going at full tilt towards the end of the alley and an open street. Holt stepped in to block his path, also armed with a baton. The third class skidded to a stop, and knowing he was pinned, raised up his right arm and tugged down the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a slot bracelet with all four pegs occupied with green orbs. Yukio swore silently, gritting his teeth.

"Don't even try it!" The third class shouted. "I'll fry you fuckers before you even blink!"

"Give it up, kid." Holt ordered. "You aren't going anywhere."

"Like shit!" He leveled his arm at Holt, the limb shaking. "Give me a break! We're all Soldiers, we should be fucking running this piece of crap city! Who the hell can stop us!"

"We can. This isn't like the old days, kid, so quit acting all high and mighty. We're gonna have to get used to living like normal humans."

"Like hell I am! I'm gonna carve me out an empire in here, and no one's gonna fuck with me!"

"I'm telling you, kid, this isn't going to end well if you don't give me that bracelet." Holt warned. He took a step forward and held out his hand. "Let's have it."

"S-Stay the fuck back! I'll burn you, I swear I will!"

The third class shivered, and he held up his hand to keep the man at a distance. What he forgot was Yukio, who was taking silent and measured steps closer to the rogue, vision focused and his muscles tensed like coils. He was thirty paces away when the rogue adjusted his feet, getting ready to look back. Yukio gritted his teeth and bolted, tearing up the meters as leaning forward to let inertia aid his charge. He wasn't quick enough, however, and the rogue saw the charging Soldier and pointed his hand at him like it were a gun. A mist of sparkling light danced around his palm, and suddenly the ground ahead of him roared into a violent orange and yellow fire. The rogue grinned sadisticly at his work, but suddenly the expression retreated to terror as it dawned on him that he left the other unwatched. He spun on his heels in time to see Holt ducking to his side, the gray blur of the baton sailing down faster than his muscles could react. The blow across the face sent the rouge down onto the ground with a mute thud, spraying blood from his mouth and nose. Holt stomped on the rogue's arm to hold it still, and he stooped down and undid the lock for the bracelet and removed the hazard. The fires ahead had died away as quickly as they arose, a faint whiff of smoke trailing into the sky.

"You okay, Yukio?" Holt asked casually.

The Soldier, standing prone with his arms covering his face, shuddered. "Damn it..."

"Yeah, I didn't think the kid'd do it, either." Holt held up the bracelet and touched each green orb, inspecting them. He grinned and chuckled. "Hey, lucky you. He's got a healing materia on him."

Yukio lowered his arms gingerly, trying not to aggrivate burnt flesh. He stood straight and looked at himself, seeing that his clothes were all but ruined. His arms didn't look badly burned, but the pain was starting to edge in over his conscious resistence. He gingerly retracted the baton and placed it in his coat. "Cure me."

"Sure thing, bossman." Holt snapped the bracelet on, them lifted his arm and muttered the incantation for the spell. A green glow arose around Yukio's body, and tendrils of light wove around his arms like threads of mist. The blackened cells sloughed off, revealing pink and fresh skin below. The pain subsided, and he let loose a shuddering sigh. Healing spells always felt awkward for him, as did most magic in general. He felt more at home with the knowledge of his body and it's limits, not trying to force his chakra into an oversized mako marble so he could use some ancient power. The green mist faded away, and his wounds looked and felt much better. A days rest and burn patches would take care of the rest.

"Fuck me, I missed it?"

Yukio and Holt looked back to see their third member jog down the alley to meet them, a mythril tinted sword in her hand.

"I'd love to, Lari, but you keep saying no." Holt replied with a grin.

Lari frowned, homing the blade in the scabbard on her back. "If you'd clean up and stop acting like you're twelve I might."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Whatever."

"No matter." Yukio looked down at the fallen Soldier. "He's clearly not going to convert, so we can dump him anytime."

"He had-"

"Yes. Four orbs."

"Cor." Lari arched an eyebrow. "What kind?"

"Two fire based, one healing and one lightning." Holt answered.

"Freakin' pyro, eh?"

"No kidding." He looked at Yukio. "So, we taking him or what?"

"Hold on." Yukio stepped next to the rogue and kicked him square in the gut. The third class gasped and curled up, and the others jumped at the start. "He's still awake."

Lari stepped forward. "Let me handle it, boss. You already had some fun without me."

Yukio nodded. "Alright, but don't mess him up too much."

The woman snickered, then knelt and grabbed the rogue by his shirt and picked him up so he nearly dangled by his feet. She smiled as the youth tried to focus on his oppressor, face swollen with a large red welt. "You hear that, sprog? We're gonna have us some fun."

-----

The apartment building was one of the few that the slums was capable of building during Shin-Ra's reign over Midgar. It was three floors in height, built with the best material availabe, which meant it was barely able to pass any rigorous inspection for safety standards. However, the poor didn't care how safe it was so long as it kept out the cold and the stiff putrid air and unwelcome scavengers. The residents were always transient, few able to pay the weekly rent for a single room, most staying as long as precious gil would last. The locals jokingly referred to it as the only successful hotel in the slums.

Once meteor arrived overhead, looming crimson throughout the day and night, the building was all but abandoned as people fled away expecting that the whole city was going to be crushed beneath it. When it was destroyed and the plates all collapsed onto the earth below, the apartment was trapped amidst the wreckage of the surface city and lost to the outside world. It took two months before it was uncovered, the rubble cleared away, the damage repaired, and declared safe for occupation and slotted to be used for emergency shelter. It took a while, but the new governing body assigned an ex-Soldier to manage the building, knowing he wouldn't be likely to extort anything from the tenants and give them adequate leadership. Yukio felt it was an insult to go from ranking member of Shin-Ra's armed forces to a lowly superintendant, but he swallowed his pride since it meant income and a home. However, he didn't immediately allow in anyone who came knocking for sanctuary. He had something else in mind.

Some of his old comrades from the division had been around the area, eeking out a miserable life in shacks and scrounging for food. Yukio searched throughout the neighborhood and gave them rooms in his apartment free of rent, the only clause was that they helped him look for other Soliders so he could get them a place to stay. He knew the danger they posed, recalling endless scraps in the barracks and threats; rumors of theft, attempted murder, and rape that occured up and down the ranks. That kind of danger could cripple Midgar before it ever had a chance. As much as it hurt him to consider the course he plotted, he had to go ahead with it: Any Soldier he found had two choices, either get a room at his building and shape up for civilian life, or try and fight and end up at the staircase of the nearest jailhouse. So far Yukio was distraught at how the majority chose to fight and get their kicks while they could. He didn't think so many Soldiers were that ravenous for the battlefield and the prospect of power through fear and intimidation. Apparently his perception of people was flawed more than he realized.

The recent rogue was just another nameless face on that list, but each one brought in meant that Midgar was that much safer. Yukio hoped he would be able to keep this up for the long run, especially against any first class that roamed the sectors. He had only recruited four second class and nine third, and they were all weak from a lack of disicplined training. While they were improving from his rigorous regimes and the hunt, he wasn't sure if it would be enough if push came to shove. The rumors of Soldiers going off the deep end and killing at random was a terrifying thought. If even one was armed for battle, he could cause incredible harm to the city and it's people; riot sticks and close range weapons wouldn't matter if the enemy had materia or guns. However, now that he had four more materia of his own, he allowed himself a little relief at the extra leverage he could use to persuade others to his side.

"You look thoughtful."

Yukio glanced at Farrah from the kitchen table, the woman busy stirring a cooking pot that sat on an electric cooking range. She wasn't even looking his way, leading him to wonder why she spoke up. "Perhaps."

"You normally don't stick around here." She added. "You're usually out hunting or training."

"I was careless today. I let a mere third scorch me with a fire spell."

She chuckled. "Even our boss has his weak moments, huh?"

"Hardly." Yukio studied the orbs in his hand. Each looked innocent enough, but he could sense the potential lurking beneath the surface, the physical memories of a talent that let everyday people manipulate the forces of nature and ether. He knew what materia could do in the right hands; he still felt pain from that fire, and all it took was the panic of a weakling like that kid to make it happen. A trained and experienced first class would probably be able to incinerate a whole house in one go with an orb.

"Those things freak you out?" She asked.

"Somewhat." Yukio admitted. "I'm not comfortable with the idea of magic. It's too..."

"Magical?" She suggested. "Too mysterious, too alien?"

"When did you learn to read my mind?" He asked in good humor.

At this Farrah finally turned away from her labor to wink at the Soldier. "Can't give away all my secrets, now."

Yukio chuckled lightly. Farrah was a strange woman. She was older than most of the Soldiers here by a good ten years, but age hadn't inpeded on her youthful attitude. She mothered them whenever she could, yet would flirt boldly with the men if the mood was right. He didn't know if any of them succeeded in bedding her, but her casual friendship with them all suggested not. She had been here since he was given the task of managing the building, and kept up the rent payments in addition to keeping house throughout. She hardly ever complained, never batted an eye at their tasks or when they returned bloodied and still flying on adrenaline, just worked and enjoyed the aura of safety the Soldiers exerted on the block.

"What are you cooking?"

"It should be a stew, but its looking more like thick vegetable soup at the moment. It isn't the same without good meat."

"We appreciate it anyway."

"Like hell you will, or you can try and cook yourself."

"Alright, alright." Yukio stood, putting the orbs back into the slot bracelet. He took care not to aggrivate his arms, the skin currently wrapped with bandages and ointments.

"Damn it. Supper will be ready in fifteen minutes, it'll just have to do as soup."

"Okay."

Yukio left the kitchen and walked to the staircase, heading up to the third floor where the armory and the training room was. He had knocked down the walls so the entire floor was open for practice save a room for weapons. Once there, he smiled when he saw most of the third class doing stretches under the supervision of Stoke, their resident instructor. Lari was sharpening her sword and knives and Holt was benching weights with some borrowed equipment. Yukio walked through and to the door, opening it with a metallic creak. Inside there were shelves that held their small store of arms and assorted melee weapons. He went to a corner and opened up a large metal safebox, revealing a padded interior where three other green orbs and a single red orb sat. He put the bracelet in there and closed it, then left and watched the thirds exercise. He felt the unfamiliar weight of leadership press on his consciousness, recalling how often they called him boss and how they all looked to him for inspiration and command. He had only been stationed with the hundred and thirty third, monster patrol around reactors one and two. He was used to working with three others, not a near dozen.

"Hey Yukio."

He looked to Holt, the Soldier sitting on the bench with a rag wiping his face and neck. "What?"

"You think we should go back there?"

"I don't see why."

"You know damn well why." Holt complained. "That kid was waiting for _someone_ to show up. What if it was another Soldier? We could have bagged him, or tailed him. I want to see if anyone's still waiting."

"It's more important to get what we can at the time, not wait and risk exposure."

"Jeez, it's that kind of logic that's going to ruin us."

"Keep it down." Yukio warned.

"I'll say it however loud I like!" He shouted.

Yukio glanced at the thirds, and to Stoke's credit, they were totally absorbed into the exercise routine and hadn't stopped to look; but ears still heard even while distracted. Holt had been more vocal about leading his own hunt the past days, saying that he was qualified enough for the job. Yukio couldn't falt him that, but the man was more in tune with combat than leadership. Even if they were ranked the same, technically he was highest qualified among them all and closest to be promoted to first class. Yukio wanted to keep control of the hunt simply because he needed to ensure the Soldiers trusted to work with them were on the level. One had feinted loyalty and tried to steal their weapons during the night. He was killed right on the floor he tread, neck broken by an overzealous third. Holt could fight, but Yukio didn't think he had it to see into a man's soul and _know_ he wouldn't betray them.

"Holt, this isn't the time."

"Then when?" He stressed.

"Soon."

"That's no excuse. What, you don't trust me? Is that it?"

"No. I trust you, I just-"

"Then let me prove it to you! I can bag a Soldier and make him _beg_ to join us, I just need a chance to-"

Yukio held up a hand to stop Holt. "Just give me more time! So far only we go out for the hunt and the thirds stay here. I want to get them at peak condition so we don't have to go it alone. Best case scenario is each of us goes out with a few of them as extra muscle, that way we can cover more ground and recruit more people. It's an upward spiral from there, but I need time to prepare us so it doesn't fail when we start."

"How much time?"

"...A week at most. Is that okay?"

Holt didn't appear thrilled at the idea, but he shrugged and sighed. "Yeah."

Yukio took a breath, watching the man walk away to the stairwell. He had been toying with that concept ever since he started this plan, and it never seemed any better than it sounded. He only trusted second class to lead since the thirds were only given combat training, not any classes for tactics or improving leadership qualities. At best he would be given the honor of commander, Holt and the others as lieutenants, and the rest as grunts. It was the same tried and true formula that worked for every army he knew of, but it was also prone to the weaknesses of any military. Dissent would be commonplace, unity difficult to enforce, and there was always the danger posed by the sector police and the growing city government. If Mayor Domino knew that a group of Soldiers were forming a block of power in his city, it might mean a confrontation with them and civil war. It was already difficult to find police stations and jails to drop the rogue Soldiers at without leaving evidence of the force behind it, letting his mission expand would only increase that danger. But his morality wouldn't let him rest knowing dangerous soldiers were on the prowl, so he accepted the risk as it stood for the moment. How long it stayed the same was a question he didn't have an answer for.

"You're brooding again."

Yukio looked at Lari, who was standing at his side and looking out a window to the city ahead. While three stories up wasn't high enough to grant a dominating view of the land, it was higher than most and offered a view of the sector, a maze of alleys and streets surrounding roofs and chimneys. The ruined tower stood to the far right, the standing plates shrounding the land in shadow. It was imposing, treacherous. Hundreds of Soldiers were somewhere out there, each of them a potential disaster waiting to explode.

"I suppose I am."

"You shouldn't." She chided. "Thinkin' about the world only makes you forget about what's right in front of your face."

"Since when did you become so philosophical?"

"Hey, I can be deep if I like. I just don't care for it much."

"Hurts your head?"

She sneered at him. "Oho, that just did. You ain't cut out for humor."

Yukio snorted.

Lari looked back out the window. "So you think it's gonna work?"

"It has to work." Yukio placed a hand on the window, rubbing it back and forth to clear the grime away. "Most of us won't go awol, but those few who will are all it'll take to break this city. It's our responsibility to make sure that our comrades don't ruin Midgar's last chance at redemption. I suppose you could say it's our last order before we can return to normal lives."

"I don't remember a time in my life that I called 'normal'." Lari muttered.

"I know."

"...So what can we do once it's all done? It's good and all to be takin' the moral high road, but we gotta do somethin' with ourselves."

"We'll cross that bridge once we get there."


	4. Four

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

**: The Past Concluded :**

_The days are getting longer, it seems, not because of the seasons, but because of responsibilities._

_We've been working so hard to bring Midgar back up from the grave. I never knew that it was so bad down here, that the people were so listless and morose. Even with streets and homes being built or fixed, it feels like we're just making a fancy coffin for ourselves. Crime, poverty, death, ignorance and hatred, it's all festering in this place, feeding off of hope and burying it into the earth. Those who could leave already have, and only the poor remain, only the hopeless and loveless linger in these sectors._

_I saw someone kill himself by jumping off a crane. He didn't even struggle in the air, didn't even flinch. When he hit the ground..._

_God, the sound was horrible. It made me sick all through my body. It was so final. So brief. I felt like I could curl up and die. I think a part of me did._

_This can't go on. It has to end before we all end up like him._

_- Elena_

_**---Turks' apartment, Sector Four**_

The electronic alarm went off, a shrill buzzing piercing the silence of the bedroom and disturbing Elena from the deserving rest she sought. She grabbed a handful of quilt and tossed it away, sliding legs off the mattress and standing with a shiver on the cold wood floor. She plodded to the noisesome clock and flicked it off, staring at the hands that read seven AM. She rubbed here eyes and took a deep breath, held it in a second, and exhaled; another day, another challenge. Even though waking at seven was sleeping in for her, being up until one in the morning meant the difference wasn't to her favor. Interviews, paperwork, plotting and scheming took up most hours of the day, and her work ethic didn't easily let her quit a task just because of a minor thing like time. Walking throughout the streets of Midgar at the same time compounded that exhaustion. She considered going with Reeve and getting a bicycle of her own.

Sufficiently awake, Elena walked around her bed and to the small dressing cabinet, opening the doors. She took up a brush and began taming her hair, noting in the mirror that it was nearly at shoulder length. Just another thing on the growing list of concerns to worry about whenever time alloted her some personal freedom. A hairtie pinned it at the back of her neck, and a bathrobe went over her checkered pajamas. She opened her door and walked down the hall to the kitchen, hearing the shower running in the bathroom. She opened the refrigerator and took out a battered coffee tin, added a scoop of grounds to the brewing machine, added water, then demanded it make a fresh pot. As it began to gurgle and boil the water, she took out eggs and bread for toast. The smells of breakfast began to accumulate, and hunger brought Elena completely out of her groggy senses. The door to the bathroom opened.

"Breakfast's almost ready." She called at the wall, knowing Rude would hear her.

The brewer began to sputter, droplets of coffee pattering into the pot. Eventually a steady stream began to fill it, and the eggs were nearly done. She dashed in some pepper and a little salt, waiting on the toaster. As soon as it popped up with a clunk, she took the slices out and dropped them on a plate, put an egg on one and sandwiched it for herself. She wished there was ham to add, but meats were on short supply. By the time she finished with Rude's he was dressed in slacks and shirt and walking to her side to take the light meal and a mug for coffee. They sat at the table and ate in silence. It was almost an art the way their morning started, how she finished the preparations just as Rude finished shaving regardless of what there was to eat. The silence was unintentional, however; Rude was never one for idle talk, even when not upholding the image of a professional, and Elena didn't want to force it on him. Personally, even living together for two months hadn't really broken any barriers between them. She just didn't know what to talk about. She wished Reno was with them so he would talk up a storm about anything under the sun like he usually did; three days and he hadn't called them or stopped by at all.

Rude stood and took his flatware to the sink, rinsing them clean and putting them into the basin. "Thank you." He added.

"You don't need to." Elena replied.

"I just don't want you to feel unappreciated." He continued.

"Rude?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"You may."

Elena fidgeted with her mug, turning it in her hands. She didn't want to ask this, but the question had been burning ever since the night at the Pretty Birdy. What was it that he and the Soldier talked about? Her over analysis of that minute made her think and speculate, invited wild theories and reasons. Something about it had convinced her that his attitude, perhaps his whole life, had been deeply affected by whatever he referred to. She took a breath and wished for courage. "What was Operation Black Mambo?"

The dead silence prompted her to look at him directly, and she was stunned at his expression. Without his trademark sunglasses to hide his eyes, she could tell that he was genuinely surprised. Somewhere deeper, she imagined that he looked frightened about whatever it was. As the seconds wore on, Elena feared that she offended him or unearthed some horrible memory that he didn't want to recall. She retreated from her question rapidly. "Oh, I'm such an idiot! I shouldn't have asked, I didn't mean anything by it-"

"It's okay." He said. When Elena continued to babble apologies, he took a step closer. "Elena."

Hearing her name paused her rant. "It's okay, Elena. You haven't upset me."

"Rude, I-"

He held up a hand, ending her apology. "I understand."

"You don't have to answer. It was stupid of me to even ask you something that personal."

Rude sighed, taking his seat and leaning on the surface of the table. "No. I will answer your question."

"But only if you want to!"

"I do." He answered.

Elena remained silent at his response, wondering just what she got herself into.

Rude took a breath and exhaled, closing his eyes a moment. When he spoke, he remained still and folded his hands on the tabletop as if pleading his case to a judge, or seeking redemption by confession. His gaze was lost on the tabletop, staring somewhere other than the present. "It was far before your time, or even Reno's, when the operation was carried out. Two years post-Wutai, to be exact. President Shin-Ra, to preserve his wartime powers, inflated the danger of reprisal from Wutai to a boiling point. Wutaian citizens were accused of being spies, of plotting terrorist attacks, of spreading dissent and hatred to the masses. While the danger posed by Wutai was small, it was still substantial. A known nationalist zealot and accomplices had been seen in Midgar, and rumors spread in accordance. The President feared that if enough people rallied to his side, a social divide would arise and beget economic collapse and racial genocide.

"To amend this problem, he ordered the sector police to heavily investigate the influence of these zealots in the economy. By the time the plan was fully underway, a nationalist edge was seen in nearly all businesses in the Wutaian market. When any investigation was made, their lawyers would defend them harshly and wrap up so much time and money that the intended effect was negated; black market deals more than made up for any legal halt to their trading. The zealots integrated themselves into the market faster than anyone anticipated. Black Mambo was first created shortly thereafter, calling on two departments to work together. One was Soldier in proxy to the police, the other was a new unit made by the President and created specifically to combat any danger to Shin-Ra as a government, the Turks."

Elena took in the details and burned them into her memory. She hadn't ever heard Rude speak this much before, possibly not in all the time she had known him. It sounded like he knew about this from personal experience, that he had been there since the start. She didn't think he was that old to be there for so many years ago; then again, she didn't even know how old he was.

"The Turks were small, then. Tseng was given command because of and despite his Wutaian heritage and his skill as a negotiator. Others were transferred from Soldier because of their talent, and some from various departments that showed promise. I came from the sector police, narcotics division. We were trained heavily in hand to hand combat, in stealth and recon, demolition and interrogation. Our skills were tooled specifically to the premise of Black Mambo: We were to infiltrate a Wutaian neighborhood in sector six, make contacts and determine the strength of local yakuza, then storm that same neighborhood in one night and remove the entire organization by capturing the leaders and killing all others whom they controlled. We were justified in our actions and none of the survivors could speak against us; would the yakuza admit their crimes to accuse us of ours?

"By the time Black Mambo was poised to start, the team had to be expanded to accommodate our needs. Since the Turks were special, many Soldiers were brought and given crash training to compensate. Tseng argued this fault, but the President saw no other alternative. We transferred in starting June tenth, ending the thirteenth. It was two twenty AM on June fourteenth that Black Mambo was unleashed. Details are inherently vague due to the nature of the operation, but it was declared as an overall success. Success, however, is variable to the eyes of the public. Two names were given to the atrocities that we committed, to our victories: Kurashido Block and Fujiko House.

"Kurashido Block was the center of the Wutaian neighborhood, and home to it's wealthiest businessmen. The Turks, given a chance to use stealth foremost, kidnapped those men from their homes and took them to the Shin-Ra tower. However, the Soldiers assigned as escort were ambushed by yakuza members. They held their ground and allowed themselves to be pinned down so the Turks could escape. However, rather than use a calculated retreat, the Soldiers pushed forward and carried the fight back to yakuza safehouses and innocent homes. The firefight lasted through the night until both sides abandoned their quarrel as sector police wedged itself in to establish control. Nearly eighty yakuza were killed along with fifty civilians in crossfire and as failed hostages. Eight Soldiers died, the remaining twenty two were wounded.

"Fujiko House was the name given to the richest and most influential businessman in the block. His home was a mansion surrounded by parks and koi ponds, all public property and clear to the advantage of defenders. Tseng and the most skilled of the Turks were given the task of kidnapping him and his family. The home was protected by loyalists and casualties were many, but eventually entrance was gained. However, Fujiko House did everything possible to prevent any of his family from being taken. It was that desire taken to it's extreme that led him to execute his wife, his father and mother, his sister, his three children, and then himself. Tseng left with only the wounded, the dead left to themselves.

"Black Mambo ended at five thirty two AM a success. The yakuza were broken, several ranking members of an anti-Shin-Ra movement were captured, and carefully administered reports and statements turned this into a well planned military operation to rout Wutaian spies and terrorists who were plotting an attack on the city. Outrage flooded the streets from Wutaian people, but the majority ignored their protests and scorned them into silence. Eventually any negative thought on the operation was forgotten, only a strike against the enemies of Midgar remained in the minds of its people. The captured yakuza leaders were tried and proven guilty of various crimes and sent to prison for extended terms. None of the interrogations led to any further successful action against the yakuza, and their numbers never recovered or garnered such levels of power again. Since then Wutai has taken no aggressive actions against Shin-Ra. The impact of Black Mambo was never truly studied to see if it resulted in any lessening of aggression in the long term."

Rude ended his speech, remaining still in his chair. Elena, having since crossed her arms, felt an unwanted shiver run along her spine. The story, the vast amount of information and history, all felt so heavy in her mind. She nearly felt a blush on her cheeks in shame at the actions taken against those people, of the tragedy brought on all those innocents by her company. The Soldier woman with them admitted to being in Kurashido Block, and Rude did as well. It struck her suddenly that if he was at Fujiko House, then he must have seen...

"I'm sorry!" She blurted.

"What for?"

"You were there, and you must've seen...I shouldn't have done this-"

"Elena, I already said that it's okay." Rude reiterated. "I meant it. It's in the past. It doesn't bother me any longer."

Elena mouthed apologies, but the words never made it to her lips. Her head hung low, wondering why she kept trying to mend ties that hadn't broken. She looked back to Rude, and he was watching her with his infinite patience, his eyes not accusing her of anything. She wondered how he managed it considering the people he associated with. She was glad that he wasn't upset at her.

"I'm sorry for apologizing so much." She said without humor.

"It's alright." He stood and tucked the chair in. "You should bathe. It's a quarter to eight."

Elena looked at the clock to confirm this, and it was true. All the talk had been too serious to broach so early in the morning, she felt ready to have a drink and digest everything that Rude told her. A small smile tugged at her lips as he lit a cigarette and took a drag, exhaling thin wisps of smoke through his nose. Even if it was of a macabre nature, she ended up learning a little more about his past and his life. It was a start.

_**---Somewhere in Sector Three**_

The body was foppish and refused to keep itself arranged neatly on his shoulder. He counted it yet another nuisance of being so long legged and skinny.

Still, the benefits to such an attribute was worth the negative; the cat and mouse games were all the more enjoyable when the rodent was just as quick and agile as he. The pursuits lasted for hours through the maze of homes and rubble, across rooftops and along drainage pipes. He had to admit that the youth was a challenge despite no signs of formal training. The streets alone were enough to tone the slummers with endurance and wiry strength, and this one was iconic of that trait. This kind of determination was something the soft middle class never could achieve on their own. Natural selection was slowly pruning the city of undesirables so that only the worthy could last. It was becoming a sort of eden for him.

He stopped at the end of the alley, hiding in the shadow while peeking out into the empty street. The morning hour meant few people were awake and outside. He considered waiting until nightfall to dodge the risk of being seen, but that would mean a full trip here and back plus a day wasted in hiding. He looked again, standing still while his eyes inspected homes and structures for movement or life. No sound of motion, no trace of light. The odds were set, worsening with seconds passing. He stepped out of the alley and walked several steps from the entrance, flipped the youth off his back and set him carefully against the wall, ensuring he would not slip. He checked the hand again to ensure his mark was not smudged, and noted it was satisfactory. He stood, and at that moment a uniformed policeman walked out of a doorway and looked at him.

Despite years of training and an ingrained instinct to keep oneself hidden from identification, there was a moment when he and the officer stared at one another and didn't move. The brain took a logical step, asking itself if this was truly occurring, and found no reason to consider otherwise. The following logical thought was a warning screaming at him to move damn it and get the hell out of sight! He bolted, and the policeman pursued.

He tore down the alley for the intersection, knowing a ladder was to the right that would grant him the roofs and a speedier escape.

"Stop!" The officer cried.

The killer paid him no attention, only focusing on the flight; the intersection was only a dozen meters away. The sound of the pursuing footsteps slowed, and a gunshot rang out loudly through the wood and brick avenue. Pain erupted on his shoulder, not enough to incapacitate, but a nuisance and hindrance to his rythem. He reached out and grabbed the corner of the home, using it to pull him around the corner and out of line of sight. The ladder was there, and he took to the rungs and climbed with haste. He flung himself over the edge and landed on the roof, resting on his back and listening hard for the sound of the officer chasing him. Scuffles echoed up from below, started and stopping as if the man was pacing. The steps started, then the ladder winced from someone climbing up. The killer rolled over onto his stomach, spreading his legs out and forcing his feet to grip as strong as they could to the surface. One hand lay ready to help push, the other coiled in anticipation. He waited as the ladder wobbled, getting louder. If the man was so intent to corner him, he would grant him that pleasure.

The officer's head and gun hand rose up, and the killer struck with a ferocious right hook to the jaw. The blow stunned the man long enough for him to scramble forward, left hand grabbing a wrist so the gun was eliminated as a danger, the other darting out in another strike. The officer was in a hopeless situation, but kept climbing so he wouldn't risk a fall. The killer got on his knees, grabbed the officers shirt collar, then stood and yanked him upright and continued into a bodyslam on the uneven rooftop. He applied crushing force to the man's wrist until the gun slid out of his fingers. He took the weapon and threw it down to the alley, then stood and waited for the officer to recover. The policeman scooted back, eyes focused despite a bloody nose, and his hand darted down to his ankle. The killer pounced, grabbing the tiny revolver and wrestled for control of the weapon. They stood and shuffled, grunting with effort, hands prying at one another in desperation. The killer suddenly pulled back, spun on his heel, then threw the officer off the home and to the alley fifteen feet below. A muffled crack sounded, and the killer knew it was over. He leaned over the edge, hung from his hands, then dropped down easily. The officer lay on his back, left leg twisted in a way it wasn't meant to move.

"This is officer Piper..." The man gasped. "The serial-"

The killer sprinted forward and delivered a brutal kick to the man's jaw, splitting his lips before he could say anything more. He then stomped on the man's right hand, splintering the plastic case of his two way radio. He did it several times more, enjoying the sound of bone snapping and plastic cracking, all of it intermingled with yelps and whimpers from the officer. Done, he stooped and picked the officer up by the bulk of his shirt. He looked into the man's eyes, daring the human to meet his gaze and compete against his spirit. The officer could barely keep his eyes looking at one spot, his tongue inspecting the harm befallen his face. Beneath the pain, the killer felt the officer's anger roiling inside. He almost felt pity that such fierceness was hampered by weak flesh.

He smiled, revealing his teeth in a predatory fashion. "You'll do..."

_**---Delikatessen, Sector Three**_

The morning regulars were used to the high number of police that came and went throughout the hours the shop was open, but hesitated when glancing at a table occupied mainly with suits and grave expressions. The only one not dressed for business bore a stare and observant eye that was just as foreboding. The waitress who served them gained the unspoken sympathy of a great many customers as she took down nervous requests for breakfast and coffee.

"So," Reeve began. "Have we made any progress?"

"Not really." Elena replied. "Rude and I have been researching the notes you gave us, but they aren't very useful. So far the only pattern we've got is that each of his victim's are physically fit. Not sculpted or anything, but healthy."

"That's something."

Atma shifted in her seat. "Two people can confirm the identity of the seventh victim. She was a television actor turned prostitute by meteor. She held no one location for her use, but moved with the demand."

"Good." Reeve pulled out some crisp papers from a folder and set them on the table. "I managed to convince Domino to convince Varik to give me the full reports on the earlier victims. These are the first five."

Both Atma and Elena reached out for them, hands nearly touching one another. The Turk looked at the Soldier, met her eyes a moment, then retreated. Atma took up the first two documents, leaving Elena the other three. As they began scanning the notes, Rude turned his head to look at Reeve.

"What of Domino's decision?"

Reeve shook his head. "No chance. Yet."

"Yet?"

"I'm thinking ahead. Once we catch this killer, Domino will have to admit that he was wrong about the Turks, that they have a place here. Maybe that will help convince him to bring you on."

"As?"

"Probably what you are now, an elite group to hunt extremely dangerous criminals. A far cry from what you used to do, but it's something. I suspect that...excuse me." Reeve reached into his coat pocket and took out his vibrating phone, flipping it open. "Yes?"

The voice on the other end was loud, and Reeve's eyes widened at something he said. "When?" His free hand began reaching for his pocket, grabbing his wallet. "I'm at Delikatessen with the others, we'll need a lift. Okay. Okay, see ya!" He snapped the phone closed and shoved it into his coat, then hurriedly drew out several bills for their unprepared meal.

"What is it?" Elena asked.

"The serial killer. An officer radioed in, but his connection was lost. Varik thinks he's being attacked."

The others didn't waste time with needless questions and instead began quickly began gathering their things. They slid out of the booth and hurried to the street, keeping an eye out for any of the police trucks that were sure to be rolling out of the precinct. It took a minute, but two of the monstrous vehicles pulled out from behind the building, rolling towards them and stopping with a squeal of worn brakes. The rear door of the lead opened and a harried looking Varik leaned out, gesturing for them to hurry. Reeve led the way, climbing up and sitting in the parachute chairs bolted to the sides. Other officers dressed in riot equipment inspected their gear as the truck lurched forward to the scene of the incident.

"So who's all this?" Varik asked.

Reeve grinned, motioning to the others who sat on the same side as him. "Atma you know. The others are Elena and Rude, former Turks."

As he expected, Varik's face turned a shade of red. "T-Turks! First a Soldier, and now _Turks_!"

Reeve nodded. "Yep."

The chief of police struggled with himself, hands clenched. He pounded the side of the truck in frustration. "Goddamn it, Reeve, you're setting them up to take over again!"

"Face it, a lot of them are going to be part of the new Midgar eventually. After what happened, I doubt any of them would ever try to go that route again."

"You really believe that, don't you?"

"Yes."

Varik shook his head lethargically. "...I give up. I can't do it. I can't understand how you can just ignore everything they've done to us. I can't understand why you would let them have another chance to screw us over."

"Hey," Elena spoke up, leaning forward to look directly at the chief. "we're not all like that."

"Oh yes you are." Varik retorted.

"Don't you dare talk like you know me." She snarled.

"Oh, I know your type. I understand your motivations. You'll just wait for a weakness and-"

"Understand this! We want to rebuild our lives just as much as you do. I'm going to do everything I can to make Midgar great again. We all are. If you're going to fight us the whole way, then leave and let us work in peace."

"Like hell I will! Midgar needs people like me to control you bastards so it doesn't end up back where it was. You are the worst kind of monsters, and I'm not giving you an inch more than you deserve."

"Elena-"

"Shut up, Reeve." She snapped, leveling her glare straight at Varik's eyes. "We've all done terrible things in our lives, but that doesn't mean we can't change, or should be denied a chance to prove we can. You just watch us, Varik, watch and see. We'll work just as hard as the next guy to earn our keep, and to start, we'll find and capture this murderer, something your whole department can't do."

"Good luck with that."

"Okay!" Reeve barked, looking at his comrades and the officer. "Quit it. Working together is more important than bickering about the past."

"Those who forget the past..." Varik quoted.

"And I haven't, Varik, so don't infer that I have. How much farther is it?"

Varik stood and leaned forward to peer out the passenger window. "Almost there."

"Good."

He sat back down, drawing out his automatic pistol and checking the clip and chambering the first round. "Check your weapons and your partners." He ordered. "We'll have to move if we want to bag this shithead. Remember to disable him, I want him alive if possible. Understood?"

"Yessir!" The officers chimed together.

Varik began talking for the benefit of the others. "Officer Piper was checking a disturbance in one of the old apartments, but it was a false call. We think he found the killer and tried to arrest him. We don't know anything else, so be careful. Are you armed?"

Atma nodded and Elena opened her jacket to reveal a holster on her side.

"I haven't used a gun in a while." Reeve admitted. He wished he had the sense to keep the equipment he needed to command the toysaurus Cait Sith, but he relinquished the cat and controls to the city for safe keeping. The meager practice he had at a firing range wouldn't suffice in this scenario.

"What about you?" The chief asked of Rude.

"I don't use guns." He replied flatly.

Varik shook his head. "Crazy fuckers..."

"He's fine." Elena insisted. "No one wants to mess with a Turk hand to hand."

"Well, I hope the killer is willing to oblige him, then." He looked to the driver. "ETA?"

"Two more blocks. Another patrol radioed in and found a body. They found a brass jacket down an alley. No sign of Piper."

"Shit." Varik pounded his boot on the floor of the truck. "You guys ready?"

"Yeah!" The officers replied.

"Gonna give it your all?"

"Hell yeah!" They replied.

"Gonna let those sons of bitches know what we're made of?"

"Fuck yeah!"

"Alright!" Varik shouted. The truck lurched to a stop, and the chief nearly flew down the tiny aisle and slammed his fist on the open trigger, the door whipping out. "Let's get to it!"

The officers roared and leapt out of the truck, immediately checking their perimeter and securing their position. They were all armed with lightweight, semi-automatic rifles that were typical of Shin-Ra grunts. By the time Varik and the others got out, they were already spreading out to cover alleys. The police from the patrol joined them, having donned bullet-proof vests in place of body armor, service revolvers at the ready. They motioned to the direction the killer took down.

"Okay!" Varik barked, clearly in his role. "Everyone down that alley! Three men down each split and one for the next! Radio man, start networking! I want a five block perimeter up in three minutes past this spot! Have all volunteer units on standby for quick shifts! Get lockdown...no, scratch that, get word to the mayor!" He looked at Reeve and his collaborators, hesitating only a moment in his orders. "Reeve, help man the comm. You three on me!"

The chief turned and jogged towards the alley, Elena and Rude following closely while Atma lingered a stride behind. Reeve went to the second truck that followed them, stepping into the back where a bulky radio console sat against the driver and passenger seats. The man sitting there glanced back, then held out a headset and motioned to a second spot next to him.

"What do I do?" Reeve asked.

"Take down locations, intersections, and write 'em out. Gotta cover their positions the old fashioned way." The radio man instructed.

Reeve nodded his understanding, then put on the headset and began to wait.

-----

Elena tried to get her body to loosen up, to resist getting tense from the pursuit. She knew that her body wouldn't be able to react fast enough if she didn't. Rude looked impervious to the chase, and the police chief and the ex-Soldier both looked fine. The route they chose was simple: keep running in the same direction while taking the closest if not the same alley or street. It was simple logic since the other police were covering the left and right. If they had luck on their side, they could establish a perimeter around the place where the killer might be and could squeeze him out. Firstly, they had to make sure the killer didn't run straight through the blocks to get as far away from the scene as he could.

The seconds passed by slowly, each one noted by a sharp glance and deep breath. After several blocks they didn't slow down, and Varik seemed single minded to continue running like the crow flies through the poor neighborhood. By the time that Elena wondered if they had lost the killer, the chief skidded to a stop. She nearly collided with him, but saw his arm dart up with his pistol aimed at something ahead. She drew her firearm and held it at the ready, trying to see who the officer was intimidating.

"Stand up!" Varik ordered. "Hands where I can see them!"

The person, a man now that Elena saw him, didn't move except to crane his head at the visitors to his napping spot. She immediately noted the brighter than normal irises sitting in the shadow like a chesire cat. A Soldier without question. He almost looked a natural part of the ruin, clothes filthy and his skin covered in smudges and dirt. His gaze, though, lent itself a predatory feeling.

"Get up!" The chief barked again, taking a step forward. "Get your hands up! Move!"

The Soldier suddenly leapt from his place like a cat, and Varik only managed a single curse before limbs and hands tangled in his own and dragged him down to the earth. Elena stood back, hesitated for a second as she debated keeping her gun trained on him or to stoop and try to wrest them apart. Without such restraint, Rude grabbed the Soldier roughly by his shoulder with both hands, pulling and kicking his feet into the dirt for traction. It took several seconds, but Soldier and officer were separated, and Rude used the momentum to throw the rouge down the alley on uneasy feet. A series of loud gunshots rang out in even intervals, each bullet making the man jolt and twist.

"Hold your fire!" Varik screamed.

Atma didn't listen to his order, only focused on the target. He fell onto the ground after the fourth round, at which she ceased and lowered her firearm. The chief stood and looked at her, eyes wide in anger. The gun hand rose a little as if it were necessary.

"I said to hold your Goddamn fire!" He snapped. "I wanted him alive!"

"He isn't dead." She replied.

Varik choked on his retort, head snapping back to look at where the rouge lay. Sure enough, the man was wiggling on the ground and trying to lean up on his elbows. Four distinct red splotches were staining his shirt, all centralized on his ribcage and sternum. The chief took only a moment's grace to silently complement the woman's grouping, spending the rest in mute surprise. He took out his radio and held it in for a frequency wide alert buzz, then brought it to his mouth. "All units, code eighty one. We are eight blocks from base, straight line, over."

The radio hissed with static. "Copy that. Code twenty, over."

"Copy." Varik put his radio back onto his belt. He then lifted his pistol again and kept his distance from the wounded rouge. "Now you gonna listen?"

"Screw you, mister." The Soldier snarled. "Why you shootin' at me? What'd I do, fuck your mother?"

"Better think twice before talking, tough guy." He faltered in his anger when Rude stepped next to him, lifting a hand to ward off his outburst. "What?"

"I'll restrain him." Rude spoke.

"Now hold on...!"

"Big shot, eh?" The rouge Soldier chuckled, getting to his feet despite his wounds. "Let's get it on, then!"

Rude approached, hands at his sides and suit still immaculate, looking all the executive rather than trained killer. The rouge did the same, shifting his balance from foot to foot in irregular patterns, trying to keep limber and unpredictable. He placed his weight on one leg, then leaned forward to begin a rush to attack. Rude, watching the man's arms, saw the motion a second before it occurred, and that let him adjust his footing to anticipate the limited space in where the rouge could now attack. As if choreographed, the Turk grabbed the rouge's hand as he tried to sucker punch his jaw, spun on his heels, and threw the offender face first into the dirt. With a violent twist, he locked the arm in place and elicited a growl of pain from the suspect. With a foot firmly planted on the man's shoulders, Rude stooped and grabbed at his other wrist and pulled it back so that Varik could approach and snap handcuffs onto the man. Once they clicked shut, the Soldier seemed to lose all his anger and lay limp on the dirt, silent. Elena and Atma kept their guns trained on the man the entire time.

Varik looked up at Rude, curling his lips. "Not bad."

Rude didn't respond, stepping back to the sideline.

"What was the radio call?" Elena asked.

"Prisoner truck. He'll be here in a minute." He looked down at the wounded Soldier, prodding him with his boot. "You going to last that long?"

"I'm gonna kill your family and make you watch, you prick!"

Varik snorted a chuckle. "Sure..."

"You think this is the guy?" Elena asked.

"I don't know, but he's Soldier, so he's guilty of something. Maybe he even knows where the psycho is hiding out." The chief kicked the Soldier roughly to get his attention. "You heard. Any of your buddies gone off the deep end lately? Started killing people and writing numbers on them?"

The man rolled his head to glare up at the officer. "How the hell would I know?"

"You're fucking _Soldier_, dickhead."

"Oh yeah, perfect excuse." He spat on Varik's shoe. "Get bent. I'm just tryin' to survive out here. Hell, half these people are losin' their heads as is! You think I'm keeping track of 'em all?"

"What I think is that you rejects stick together. Got any friends here?"

"They all died with Meteor. Been wanderin' since."

"Tragic." The sound of an engine came from the street they passed, gaining in strength. Varik chuckled and grinned. "Last chance, guy."

"Or what?"

"Or you don't get on my good side and I turn an eye if you happen to have a fall."

The Soldier grinned, revealing dirty teeth. "Sounds like fun."

"It will be." Varik promised darkly.


	5. Five

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

**: The Past Concluded :**

_I find that this city seems to be lacking something._

_Strength it has, borrowed from so many cities and volunteers. Money is short, but that is a constant for any governing body, and it isn't as though the people refuse to rebuild their homes because of that. Material is more than plentiful, scrapped from the ruins of the plates and cobbled together by the best and brightest of the city's engineers. Is it tools, or talent, or protection from those who would abuse them? Is it the ghost of Shinra out to ruin us? The murderer in sector three?_

_No. I know what it is. Silly that I didn't realize it until now._

_They all lack hope._

_- Domino_

_**---Oberon's Folly, Sector Four**_

Reno hesitated a moment before tipping the shot glass back, but regretted nothing as the iced vodka rolled across his tongue and left a trail of cool down his throat and warmth in his belly. He set the cup by the others, then lolled his head side to side and wondered why the overt feeling of gravity was so nice all of a sudden. He stopped, stared at the bar for a moment, then looked up at the rack of drinks and wondered what else to try. So far he had tried the imported Shirido, rum from Costa del Sol, and three types of bourbon from rival brewers in Gongaga. The vodka was from Rocket Town of all places. It was the best of them all so far, nevermind that they all tasted better than the last since the sake. Reno chuckled at the dim realization, then found himself rapidly unconcerned with it. He called the barkeep and bought the vodka, prepared to nurse that for the night, when she sat down next to him.

She, dressed provocatively in fitting pants and shirt, denim jacket open like an invitation, rested her elbows on the counter and waited patiently for the keep to notice her arrival. Her eyes remained focused ahead, never breaking to notice how Reno stared at her in silent concentration. When the keep did step up, she ordered a scotch in a husky tone. Served, she brought the cup to her lips and drank it down like water. As soon as the glass hit the countertop, Reno slid the bottle her way to get her attention. When she finally did look at him, burgundy eyes guarded and sober, it struck him why she was familiar. He grinned, playing it up. "Yo."

Her expression didn't shift, but her brows furrowed in recognition. "Reno?"

"S'me, alright." He answered. He tapped the bottle again. "Want a bit?"

She shrugged. "Sure."

He carefully lifted the bottle and poured, resting the nose on her glass so it didn't spill. A second measure went to his cup, and they shared a silent toast and knocked them back in one gulp. Reno felt a murmur tickle his throat, appreciative of the punch the liquor packed. His eyes wandered back over to her, admiring what curves he could see, wondering how long it took to grow hair so long and keep it that pretty. He could see why Rude liked her.

"So why're you here?" He asked her.

"Just taking a break. It's been a long day." She looked back his way. "Why are you here?"

"Drinkin', mostly. Dun know what else t'do."

"Haven't you crawled back into Domino's good graces yet? Or did you grow a conscience?"

"Fuck that Domino!" Reno swore. "Fuck him. Thinks I wanna go back an' risk my hide like that? Screw that, I wanna relax, do somethin' that doesn't mean I could get waxed, y'know? I mean, you live on the edge so long, you start gettin' used to it. Then one day, you figure out that livin' like that's no way to live, an' you wanna step back and take it safe. You only got one life, so you gotta make the most of it. Gettin' killed on the job is no way to go." He reached for the bottle and had a shot, soothing his tongue. "You get it, right?"

"Yeah."

"No good reason to live like that. Gotta take it easier...spend some time not havin' to wonder if this is your last day. You gotta stick with your comrades, right?"

She nodded. "Right..."

"Speakin' of...where's the rest of 'ya?"

Her eyes dimmed, and she sighed with a frown. Reno assumed the worst. "They dead?"

"No!" She barked a little too loudly. "No they're not, they're...just taking care of their own business."

"Oh..."

"What about your friends?"

"They're still kickin', but...fuck it, she's gone an' lost her damn mind."

"Hn?"

"'Lena. Went right back to bein' a Turk for Domino. Blondie's gonna get herself killed..."

"Why?"

"The hell you mean 'why'? That psycho killer! She's supposed to find an' kill the guy, some Soldier badass."

"And you aren't?"

"Hell no! I'm tired of riskin' my life for others. I just wanna take it easy an' enjoy myself. Somethin' could show up and kill us like that, you know, an' I don't wanna leave with regrets."

"Then why don't you convince her to stop?"

"She wouldn't listen..."

"So you just gave up?" The woman shook her head. "Some friend."

Reno sat upright, upset. "Hey, I care."

"Doesn't seem like it to me."

"The fuck you know?"

"Lots." She looked back at him. "Look, if you really care about your friends, then help them, don't just ignore the problem. Sulking won't change anything."

"Quit preachin'."

"I'm just telling the truth." She stood and took out a crumpled roll of cash, peeling off several bills and dropping them at Reno's hands. "Drinks on me."

"Hold on!" Reno asked, halting her before she stepped away. He looked at her face for several moments, trying to force out the question he wanted to ask. "...Did you guys really kill him?"

She hesitated before answering, but nodded.

Reno grinned lopsided, shaking his head. "You're somethin' else."

A grin, and she turned to leave. "Don't forget what I said."

"Yeah, yeah..." He turned back to his bottle, staring at the money she tossed at him. It was more than enough for their tabs together. He wondered where her sense of charity came from, especially since they only knew one another when facing off in a fight. She was tough and pretty, not some vapid airhead, and apparently forgiving of her enemies. Probably another reason why Rude fancied her. Hell, he found himself aroused enough to consider taking her to bed. Not that she would ever agree, of course, but he could dream.

He poured another shot, finished it, and mulled on her words. They were hard to accept.

_**---Sector Police Headquarters, Interrogation Room #2**_

Handcuffed and chained to the floor, the Soldier still managed to look threatening. He had wrestled and fought and spat and screamed as he was taken away from the alley and imprisoned, and it took a man on each limb to get him from the truck to the room. The threat of guns didn't phase him, nor did countless shocks by electric rod. By the time that he had calmed down and was quiet, he gathered an expression of smug arrogance and control. Varik, standing behind the single way mirror, observed the man as he returned the gaze with a silent strength. It had been many hours since they dragged him into the room and interrogated him with every expert at their disposal, yet they had nothing to show for it. Now they were coming to the end of their rope.

"How long will you keep this up?" Reeve asked.

"As long as he wants." Varik replied.

"Aren't you going to continue?"

"A lesson about interrogation, Reeve, let the guy sweat it out in silence as much as you hammer it in. The more you fuck with him, the more likely somethin' will slip."

"But this isn't an ordinary man."

"True. Maybe I should wait longer and starve him a little."

"You're kidding."

"Perhaps..." Varik wondered how long a Soldier could go without food or water. Maybe he ought to take his comment literally. This time he wouldn't need to worry himself about laws and the humane treatment of criminals. As far as Domino was concerned, all Soldiers could be considered war-criminals for serving Shinra's abuse of power. There wouldn't be a man alive who would try to defend the rights of a lunatic Soldier, not that they even deserved them. But they didn't have all the time in the world.

"Varik-"

"I won't." He said. "At least not right away."

"You can't do that!"

"Says who?"

"The law! Common decency! What kind of people are we if we torture people for information?"

"I'll make an exception this time." He looked back to the man, eying him and his companions. "The killer has one of my men, Reeve, and if this fucker knows who he is, then I'll do whatever it takes to get it out of him. If the killer follows his pattern, then we have somewhere between twenty four and forty eight hours until he's dead. We've spent seven hours on him already, so it's even less now. I won't have that on my shoulders."

"No one would blame you."

"_I_ would blame me. Now are you going to help or just complain?"

Silence, and Varik smirked a little. At least the Shin-Ra suit knew when to be quiet. He looked back into the room, and the Soldier was still staring at the mirror intently. It was unnerving. Then again, all the other Soldiers he had arrested and charged were just the same, inhumanly patient and mocking of their efforts. This one would be a challenge to break, but break he would after he worked him over long enough. No one could resist interrogation for long, no one.

"Is this-"

"You'll never find him." The Soldier's laugh was distorted through the tinny speaker set beneath the mirror, more inhuman and cruel.

Varik, previously standing with crossed arms, nearly trampled the others as he stormed the door to the interrogation room and thundered inside like a demon out of hell. He slammed his palms on the metal table that separated detective from suspect and glared, ushering all his anger into his expression. The Soldier didn't looked impressed.

"You know who the son of a bitch is, _don't you_!"

"I do."

"Where the hell is he? Where!"

"What's in it for me?"

"Your life, maybe."

The Soldier snorted in humor. "I want out."

"You're rotting in hell regardless, shit for brains, so it doesn't matter what you want."

"Then I've got no reason to talk. You gotta give a man some reason to cooperate, else it gets you nowhere fast." He grinned widely. "It's a give an' take world, so whatcha gonna do for me?"

Varik tore his issued pistol from his jacket holster and aimed it right at the Soldier's face, both hands gripping the weapon. "Tell me or it's game over."

The suspect laughed and scooted forward the best he could. "Oo, you're plucking at straws already. Go ahead then, shoot me. Shoot me right between the eyes. You're the boss now, so who's gonna stop you? Go on, do it." He suddenly exploded from his chair, straining at the cuffs and shaking like a mad animal. His eyes looked like fires in the pits of his face. "_Come on_! Shoot me, you motherfucker! Get it over with! Show us who's right and who's wrong!"

A gunshot rang out in the small room like a hammer on metal, deafening Varik a moment and leaving a ringing in his ears. The Soldier immediately sat back down, frozen still. A dribble of scarlet began to run from his right ear, the lobe nicked and burnt from the bullet's passage. A crack in the brick wall and the mashed lead slug rested behind him, still hot on the floor. The silence afterwards was deafening, and the moment lasted for seconds as the witnesses rose from the shock of what Varik just did. The Soldier smiled, and he suddenly burst into laughter. The door opened, Reeve took his hands and lowered them, and Varik stood shocked at the insane actions of the suspect he just fired on.

The gun was taken from his hands, and Reeve was by his side. "Varik, you okay?"

"You fucking coward!" The Soldier barked between guffaws. "Can't even back up his own threats! What a failure!"

Varik tensed in anger, but he was being led away by hands and the room was left behind to the dim hallway at the rear of the precinct. Faces looked at him in muted surprise at his action. Was it really that unexpected?

"Varik." Reeve kept repeating. "What in God's name were you thinking?"

Sense returned, and Varik felt reality rush his veins like cold water. Threats and promises and none of them phased the psychotic madman in that room, and his officers and these people from the mayor were staring at him like he'd just gone off the deep end. Maybe he was getting overly stressed about the hunt.

"Varik?"

"Shut up, Reeve." He finally spoke.

"But-"

"Maybe you didn't hear me. I said to shut up!" He snapped. A glance at the people around him told all he needed to know. "We'll let him rot six hours. No one's to go in there unless I say so."

"You can't do that!"

"Reeve, I've heard enough of your crap!" He roared, facing the man with the furies racing in his nerves. "This is _my_ command, and it's _my_ prerogative as to how we interrogate a suspect. These Soldiers don't have the rights that normal people enjoy, so I can do whatever I like! If it takes torture to make him talk, then you'd better believe I'll be there doing it. Now take your people and _get out_."

It took several seconds for the words to settle, and Varik felt relief when the suit ushered his lunatic companions away and out of his department. He retrieved his firearm and holstered it, then went back to watching the Soldier through the mirror. He was sitting there and chuckling, the blood dribbling onto his shoulder, not bothered at all with the injury. This is going to be more than a challenge, he conceded.

-----

Elena sighed in exasperation once the door to the station closed. "Dammit...and he's supposed to be the new chief of police?"

Reeve nodded weakly. "I know."

"The guy's a lunatic! He shot that Soldier in his own precinct! He might have killed him if you didn't step in."

"I know, Elena. He's the highest ranking officer in the division, so by all rights the position is his. Getting him out is just another item on an already long list of needs. We'll just have to bear with it until then."

"Business as usual, huh."

"Yeah."

"So what can we do now?"

Reeve grumbled. "I don't think that we can rely on the sector police any longer. It seems like we take two steps back for every step forward we make. That Soldier isn't our man, and Varik knows it. He just wants to punish him for his 'crimes' and move on to the next one."

"Uh-huh."

The group remained silent a moment, standing in the moderate rush of the early afternoon bustle.

"So what are you thinking? If the sector police are useless, then what's left?"

"We do it on our own." Reeve answered.

"How?"

"Did any other Turks survive the meteor?"

Elena shook her head. "We were the only active Turks then. There were others in training or attached to other departments, but that's it. I don't know what happened to them."

"Atma, have you seen any of your friends around?"

"I don't have friends."

"I meant other members of your squad in Soldier."

"No."

"You intend to create a unit apart from the sector police?" Rude asked.

"Pretty much. Do you know anyone who'd fit the bill?"

Rude considered the question. "There were a few suitable people, but I don't know where they are."

Reeve shook his head in agitation. "Gah, it seems like everyone we know is scattered all over the city."

"So...do you want us to look for them?" Elena asked.

"Yes." He turned to face his comrades. "Right now it's just us four, five if Reno shows up, and that isn't enough manpower to search all of sector three. We need all the help we can get, help that isn't narrow minded like Varik. Even a few more people would make it easier. So I propose we look around Midgar and try to see if any old friends are willing to go along with this. I can give them some payment, but not a lot. Let them know that we need their help as soon as possible, and that it's for the long run."

"What about you?"

"I'll retrieve Cait from the city hall."

"Really?" Elena resisted the urge to chuckle. "That thing can help?"

Reeve grinned. "It might be plush and fur, but it's still a machine. It's better than nothing. Besides, I don't like sitting back and forcing you to do all the work."

"It's no problem..."

"I want to help however I can."

"You've done a lot, Reeve. Really. You don't need to worry about us. We can take care of ourselves out there."

"I know. I don't want to slow you down out there. If I control Cait, then you don't need to worry about protecting me. Cait's disposable, I'm not."

"If you want."

"I do." Reeve glanced back at the sky, seeing the sun resting close to the western horizon. "We don't have much time left if we want to save that officer, so we shouldn't waste it. Let's go."

_**---Yukio's Apartment, Sector Two**_

"Come on, you can't keep on the defensive and expect to win a fight." Yukio scolded his sparring partner.

"I ain't trying to be bloody defensive! I'm _tryin_' to find a weak spot."

"That's your problem, then. You only _try_ when I _do_."

Yukio stepped forward and struck with a right hook, but Lari was quick enough to dodge back to avoid the punishing blow to her jaw. However, she didn't retaliate with a counterattack, so Yukio pressed his advantage and continued with several linear jabs at her shoulders and chest. These she tried to ward off, but could only intercept with her hands to lessen the blow. He rushed her and grabbed her shoulder, then leaned in with a left into her stomach that winded the woman. This time she did strike back, but it was an ineffective tap of the face that was limited by the placement of his arm. He shoved her back and held his position, watching Lari stumble and heave for air, a hand pressed on her bruised torso.

"You need to train harder, Lari."

"I'm doin' the best I can. It ain't my fault you won't let me use a weapon."

He shook his head. "Weapons only complement a person's natural strength. A good fighter should be lethal all on his own."

"Says you."

"Yes, says me." He sighed. "It makes me wonder how you ever qualified for second class."

At this the woman growled. "Hey, I earned my rank."

"Doesn't look like it to me." He opened his arms in a welcoming embrace. "Want to show me otherwise?"

Lari stood and charged. Yukio expected her to use the momentum for a punch, but she leapt at the last moment and flexed her legs tightly and kicked out like a coiled spring. Her heel struck his sternum brutally, but he grabbed her ankle regardless and dragged them both down to the floor. With a speed like a cat, he got onto his knees and leapt over her legs to pin them down with his own. His right hand grasped her neck and his left her hand, and he squeezed her windpipe to prove that he could choke the life out of her if he wanted. They stared at one another for a second more than necessary, realizing their compromising position. He stood off and offered her a hand, but she slapped it away.

"See what I mean?"

"Piss off." She spat, stomping for the stairs.

"You can't ignore this." He called after her.

"Go to hell!" She flipped him a universal gesture as she stepped out of sight.

Yukio grumbled and followed her, steps hurried to match pace. She was heading down the hallway on the second floor to her home. Farrah was at the end of the hall cleaning the window, ignoring them. He reached a hand out and placed it on her door as she reached for the doorknob, not trapping her but getting her attention. Her normally amused expression was twisted into anger, eyes glaring daggers at his own.

"I said-"

"Plenty. You have to master hand to hand combat, Lari, it's the basis of every known combat method in the world."

"So what."

She opened her door and stepped inside, and Yukio followed before she could close it on him. She looked appalled that he was invading her privacy, just another facet of the face she showed him. Her legs looked confused between walking into the room or to begin pushing him out.

"Goddammit, can't you just just leave it be!"

"No, I can't. If one person is struggling, then it affects everyone else. Lari, I need to know that I can depend on you in any situation. What would happen if you didn't have a sword and needed to fight?"

"Then I'd fight."

"How? You couldn't keep up with me upstairs. Sure, you could toss most people around, but what about other Soldiers? What then?"

"I'd still kick their asses!"

"_How_? It's obvious that without a weapon you are next to _useless_ in a fight."

"And when have I ever been without one, eh? Humor me." She sneered. "You can't. A swordmaster is always armed. Always."

"You aren't right now."

She snorted. "I've got my knives. Those're all I'd need."

"Prove it, then." Yukio demanded, spreading his feet slightly. "Go on. Try and beat me."

"...Now?"

"When else?"

The silent moment passed, neither Soldiers moving from their places in the empty front room. The seconds felt thick and heavy as the two glared at one another, tensing and planning attacks and defenses. Lari, with a smooth movement, slid her fingers along the fabric of her pant leg and a stilleto materialized in her palm. The same hand darted out to plant the blade into Yukio's shoulder, but the man crushed her wrist as he stopped her just centimeters shy of her goal. Her free hand, having found a dagger in the time her opponent was distracted, snaked in to pierce his thigh, but was also intercepted. Yukio didn't even give Lari the time to realize she was trapped before he ducked forward and butted his head against her left cheek. Stunned a moment, he yanked her left and then right and bodily tossed her back into her home. Compounded pain inhibited her balance and she fell on her rump, dropping the stilleto to keep herself upright. She resisted the need to feel the pain, instead glaring at her superior. Yukio merely crossed his arms and frowned, staring back.

"Again." He ordered.

"Why are-"

"_Again_!" He snapped in an authoritative tone.

Ignoring the fallen blade, she drew a similar dagger from her waist and reversed the grip, then stood and adjusted her body stance to make herself as difficult as possible to attack. Her expression was serious, but her eyes betrayed too much useless anger.

"Attack me." Yukio demanded.

"No dice. You're gonna dance to my tune, bossman."

"You think so?" He chuckled darkly. "Last chance."

"Nuh-uh, Yukio, this is _my_ game."

"As you wish."

Yukio strode forward with patience, hands lifted and prepared for whatever she would try. She remained rigid is posture, one hand cocked back to thrust like an arrow, the second held forward at an angle to slash at whatever was in reach. He was about two paces away when both arms sprang to life. He was forced to duck back to avoid being laid open across his chest, and he stepped further back to avoid being stabbed in the gut. Lari changed her grip on both weapons, and approached with one hand sweeping at her superior's face. Yukio's head snapped back to avoid harm, feeling the air spin in the blade's passing. A sharp pain blossomed in his waist, and he knew that she had scored a shallow wound in the flesh. He grimaced, ignoring the pain as best he could, and concentrated completely on the fight; it no longer felt like a casual sparring match.

Lari held up her weapon prominently, displaying the blood scored for them to see. Yukio kept his face neutral, unwilling to grant her the sight of his feelings. She danced forward and slashed at him, arms extended to keep him distant. It would be difficult for him to close the gap between them if she continued as such, but he watched and waited with patience. As her arms flailed back and forth, trying to make him falter, he noticed a pattern in her movements. For every downward stroke made by her left arm, her right would arc up in a similar fashion if he dodged only to one side. He waited for it, and when the time came, lunged at her. Hands grabbed wrists, applied a tight and twisting force, and two knives clattered to the wood floor. Pinned, Lari relented to one attack that was always useful: a swift kick upwards to the groin. Yukio gasped in pain and in surprise. Knees weak, he pushed himself forward and let gravity take over. The two hit the floor hard, Lari pinned fully beneath Yukio as his vision swam in agony. Exhausted, they lie there like lovers, breathing heavily and sweat beading their faces.

"Get off me." She snarled after several seconds.

Yukio rolled over onto his back and put a hand onto his wound, seeing his palm slick with blood. He determined that it was only a minor laceration, nothing simple bandages wouldn't fix. He leaned up and stood gingerly, his inner thighs radiating pain like fire. He saw Lari struggle to a sitting position, breathing heavily with one hand covering her eye. She looked at him and remained wordless, winded.

"Like I said...you need to train." Yukio reiterated between breaths.

"I still cut you."

"I could have choked the life...right out of you, when we fell...or several other times! You aren't invincible, Lari. You aren't at your physical peak, not by a long shot. Denying this will only hurt you in the long run."

"There's nothing to deny. I can hold my own."

"Just like now?"

Silence.

"You know it's true."

"Get off my back."

"I'm not letting this go ignored any longer."

"I ain't gonna train when I don't need it!"

"But you do!"

"Bollocks I do!"

They glared at one another, the tension thick between them, stubborn personalities clashing without sign of stopping. Yukio was beyond agitated at her refusal to admit her weaknesses and to take the responsibility to correct them, now he felt sincere anger rising to the surface. She was always a stubborn woman, but now it was beyond reason and entering the realm of childish futility. It had to be dealt with, here and now.

"Then go." He finally spoke.

"...Go?"

"Yes. Go. Find somewhere else to live."

"You can't-"

"I can and will! This is my apartment, my rules! If you don't want to follow them, then leave and live by your own law!" He paused, letting the words sink in. "I mean it, Lari. You either follow my rules or leave until you change your mind."

With the ultimatum drawn, he waited for her response. It was difficult to treat her like so, especially since she was proven well in combat with swords and blades. But he needed flexible warriors, and ones who didn't question his intent. There was no room to make an exception in his unit, it would only invite disaster for the future. If the line had to be drawn with her on the other side, then so be it and to hell with his personal feelings.

She stood and retrieved her fallen weapons, homing them in their pockets. She walked to a wall and picked up the sword hanging on it, secured the scabbard to her back. Her wallet slid into a pants pocket and then she strode past Yukio and out of her home without a word said. He looked outside her window and watched as she left the apartment grounds and headed into the empty streets of the sector, fading into the shadows like a waking dream. He stood there for a minute, watching, and brooding. He only left when the pain from his wound was sharp enough that he couldn't put it aside. He looked and saw a red splotch on his shirt, the blood staining his pants as it coursed down his leg. Leaving the room, he closed the door and noted that a few of his men were standing at the end of the hall, looking at him with concern or curiosity in their faces.

"Tough time, huh."

Yukio looked the other way and saw Farrah standing nearby, arms crossed and a hand bearing a coiled length of medical wrapping. She held it out to him and he accepted it with a nod, wondering if they had made that loud a racket. "Yes."

"She means well, you know."

"Meanings aren't enough to compensate for blind arrogance."

"You should have given her a second chance."

"I don't need this, Farrah, not from you."

She pursed her lips and huffed. "You try and give advice..."

"I appreciate it, this just isn't a good time."

"You gonna need help patching yourself up?"

He shook his head. "I can take care of it."

"Alright."

Yukio walked to the stairs, ignoring the looks from the thirds that gathered around. They all gawked at his cut like nervous children, silent since they wouldn't risk gossip while he was right next to them. Neither Holt or Stoke were with them, so he guessed that the two were still out on reconnaissance. It would be interesting to see their reactions when he broke the news. He passed them in silence and went to the first floor, entering his home right next to the entrance to the apartment itself; the managers suite, if it could be called that. He closed the door and went into his bathroom, flipping the switch to bathe the tiled room in sterile white light. He stripped completely and took a small towel, wet it down, and wiped away the excess blood that stained his waist and thigh. The cut itself was shallow and a few centimeters in length, smooth and straight as testament to her prowess with the weapon. He grit his teeth and did his best to wash it out with soap and scalding water, dried it off, then taped it closed. He took a pair of scissors and cut specific lengths of bandage, wadded them for padding, then wrapped more around his waist to secure the bunch to his cut and tied it off. Since he was there, he took up his razor and began shaving a few days stubble from his face.

The door to his home opened slowly, and Yukio's eyes looked in the mirror to see who it was that wanted him. Farrah's head leaned in and looked around, but ducked out when she noticed him. "Yukio."

"Yes?"

"Dinner in twenty."

"Thank you, Farrah."

"Don't mention it."

She closed the door and left him in solitude. He leaned on his sink, not hungry at all. Worries about his unit were his only concern now.

_**---A Deeper Green**_

The bar was sparsely occupied this night, more so than usual. Dregg was leaning on the counter and listening to two men talk about old days, a few men sat and played poker in a corner table, and a husband wife pair sat crying in their beer by the doorway. Elena and Rude walked to the counter and sat, the keep already standing and anticipating their requests.

"House tap." Elena asked.

"The same." Rude followed.

He poured their drinks and slid them over on coasters, setting next to them. "Where's the redhead?"

Elena remained silent at his query, allowing the pause to speak for the nature of the response. The man pursed his lips. "Somethin' happen?"

"I haven't seen him in four days." Elena admitted. She looked at him with hope in her eyes. "Has he been here?"

The man nodded. "Came by just two nights ago, right before closing. He was already pickled, babbling on 'bout freedom and livin' easy..."

Elena actually inhaled in surprise, lent forward in interest. "Was he okay? Did he say anything about where he was staying? Where he was going?"

Dregg shook his head. "The guy was drunk, missie, s'all I can say about how he was holdin' up. When I closed shop, he was sittin' against the wall and said he'd sleep it off there."

"And you didn't help him!" Elena admonished.

"Hey, missie, I ain't draggin' no drunkard up to my pad. No way."

"Was he there the next morning?"

"Nope. Besides, I don't get here 'till noon. He probably wandered off to some motel or somethin' to sleep it off."

Elena struggled to retain control of her emotions, feeling glad that Reno was still in the area but angry that the barkeep didn't do anything but liquor him up further and leave him alone in the streets. She took up her beer and had several gulps, sighing. "Did he say anything about a job?"

"Nah. Kept saying he wanted to take it easy and live better, though." The man looked at Elena intently. "Look, the guy sounds desperate. If you're his friend, why aren't you helpin' him out?"

"He doesn't want...no, he just wants to..."

"The guy wants help, missie, plain as day. He might not be sayin' it, but it's obvious he does."

"I've tried, but he's...just an idiot. Does whatever he wants and never accepts help from other people."

The keep nodded.

"I mean, we told him he has a home, but he didn't listen! It's not like we don't try. He's just out there drinking, like nothing we say matters."

"Miss, are you an' him...?"

Elena shook her head.

The keep chuckled. "Well it sounds like it to me."

"What do you know?" She retorted hotly.

"Enough. Bein' a bartender is half service, half head doctor to yer customers. I've heard this story dozens o' times."

"So what does the doctor recommend?"

"Find the guy, and both of you quit lyin' about what's right in front of 'ya. The more y'avoid it, the worse it tends to be, 'specially when it's between men and women."

"I already said it's not like that!"

"Relax, missie, I ain't accusin' you of nothing! It's just the nature of the beast. Men an' women don't see eye t' eye on certain things, so it takes lots of effort to get the message across." His head lifted as another customer entered the bar. His eyes only glanced at the newcomer, but reverted to attention on Elena. "All I mean is be honest with him. There ain't much you can do if he's gonna be a prick, but let the guy know you care about him."

"Yeah..." She muttered, eyes following the keep as he served the new person several stools down.

Elena took up her mug and had another few swigs of the brew, thankful that it was taking the edge off her nervous jitters. The day felt like it lasted far longer than it should have, dealing with Rude's past and the Soldier that Varik nearly killed in his rage and having to find out where the entry level Turks had disappeared to. None of them answered their phones, and she had no idea where they lived or if their homes even existed now. She had no evidence that any of them were even alive. They had all been assigned to headquarters when the Weapons appeared from the northern crater and stayed to help evacuate when meteor appeared. None of them arrived when Domino put out the general announcement for all Shin-Ra employees to aid in rebuilding a governing body. Perhaps they had the foresight to know that he would turn them away once he learned of their position.

Of course, now concerns about Reno floated just as demanding in her head. What had possessed him to completely ignore their hospitality and run off? What could there be in the broken streets that attracted him more than the presence of friends and good memories? Elena sighed, unable to find an answer. All she knew is that whatever happened to him after meteor must have been responsible. He would never turn down a challenge or abandon his comrades, not under any circumstances. But now?

"We should go." Rude insisted, having finished his beer.

"Alright..." Elena chugged the remainders of hers, then fished out the tab and tip and lay them on the counter. They stood and walked out of the bar, looking up and down the street in the near twilight of the sunset. The bar was the most logical place for them to start at since Reno claimed it as his haunt, but it was just another disappointment. They began walking towards their apartment for a lack of any other destination.

"Rude, what else can we do?"

The man shook his head lightly. "I don't know."

"We've checked everywhere we can think of. Wherever Reno is, it isn't someplace obvious. It's not like he's that familiar with the slums anyway, so where could he be? Logically, where would he go around here? Do you think he might be at a motel? The barman did say something about that."

"Elena, we should go home."

She looked up at him in surprise. "Go home? When Reno's out here somewhere?"

"Even if he did stay at a motel, which one? Where? It would take days to search the sector on foot, and he would be moving as well. It would be nearly as difficult as hunting the serial killer."

"So what should we do?"

"Go home. It has been a long day, and we need sleep."

"I'm not tired. I could stay out late and look for him."

"Elena-"

"I can take care of myself! I only need a few hours sleep, caffeine can get me through tomorrow-"

"Stop it, Elena."

She grimaced, then chuckled quietly. "...I'm sorry."

"I miss him, too, Elena, but the odds are against us. We have to trust that he'll return when he comes to his senses."

"But will he?"

"I know he will. He may be stubborn, but he won't leave his comrades on their own."

Elena let the words settle in her head. She found it tough to believe that Rude still had such confidence in the redhead to come to terms with himself. The more she knew about Reno, the more it felt like only blunt logic and endless arguments could ever faze him or change his opinions. Maybe the men's friendship had been through such turmoil and followed the same sort of conclusions. Maybe Rude knew that no matter how angry or outraged Reno became, he could always come back. Perhaps her only choice was to share his trust in him.

"Thanks, Rude..."

The rest of the trip passed in silence, the sky growing dark and sprinkled with stars that outshone the streetlamps. The moon was rising a pregnant waxing phase from the horizon to the north, nearly full. Clouds were thickening in the east, moving with sluggish effort on the tiny wind that caressed the buildings, a promise of much needed rain for crops and the strained water table. The apartments that Reeve secured them were set back from any large roads, so it was considered safer than the homes built in the open and easy to reach. They passed through the gates that protected a tiny and miserable patio, then unlocked the front door and stepped inside to the warmer interior. Stairs were to the left, an elevator on the right, but their home was set all the way at the end of the ground floor. Elena had to rattle the lock, reminding herself to replace it one of these days, before it opened. Stepping inside, she pried one foot out of a shoe before the shock that someone was sprawled on a chair by their table hit her head. She drew out her gun just as Rude approached the prone individual, neither of them needing to speak to coordinate their movements. Just as they reached the table the person stirred, and both Turks prepared themselves for a fight. However, arms uncurled from the person's head to reveal dirty red hair, and a familiar pair of eyes glanced up at the two from exhausted pits in the skin.

"R-Reno?" Elena sputtered, lowering her gun.

His eyes focused, and a classic grin split his face. "Yo."


	6. Six

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

**: The Past Concluded :**

_These fucking Soldiers._

_Goddamn them to hell. They kill and rape and steal and never once think that there's anything fucking wrong with it. You lock them up and they scream and spit at you like some monster stuck in a cage, clawing for freedom they don't deserve. Sometimes I just watch them and think how much money we'd save if we just shot them as soon as they showed up. No wasted space or food, no legal bullshit to observe, and lots of quiet. But fucking Domino! 'Hold them. Determine which of them can be rehabilitated and put to use, the rest can be dealt with as needed.' Fuck, as if any of these psychos can be unwound and taught to be nice. Domino's got screws loose to even think about using them for anything but target practice!_

_I'll just have to assign more 'psychologists' to the unit and prove their beyond saving quicker, then I can bury those fuckers and be done with it._

_-Varik_

_**---Turks' Apartment**_

"Y-Yo?" Elena sputtered. "You've been gone for days and...yo! That's all you've got to say!"

Reno shrugged his shoulders. "Seems like it's good enough."

The blonde stood still for seconds, conflicted between emotions. When it seemed that she would speak, she instead strode purposefully to Reno's side, the pistol forgotten and tossed onto the table, and dragged the dirty redhead to his feet by the scruff of his collar. She inspected him with the discerning stare of a mother at her misbehaving child. His clothing was covered in scuffs and stains, hair not tied back hanging in lank strands. It looked like he was on the tail end of a week long bender, which might not have been an exaggeration. "God, you look terrible." She then wrapped her arms around him and knelt her head by his, squeezing him tightly.

"What's all this for?" He slurred, arms loose by his side.

"Because I want to kill you for running away like that, but you already look like shit, so it wouldn't matter."

Reno chuckled. "Well, if you throw yourself on anyone who leaves for a couple'a days, I oughta do it more often."

Elena immediately removed herself from his person and glared. "You miserable bastard!"

"I call it like I see it." He jested.

She growled in frustration, throwing her hands up. She walked back to the door to take off her other shoe. "Forget it. You probably don't even care that we've been worried about you."

"What, think I can't take care of myself?"

"That's obvious."

"I'm doin' fine, girlie. Just a little drunk, but hey, no big deal."

"Don't call me that."

"Why? You still think I'm makin' fun of you?" A silent pause. "Well I ain't. It's called a 'term of affection'. Now if I called you blondie, then I am making fun of you."

She looked back with a snarl. "Reno!"

"Easy, easy! I didn't mean it that time. I'm just makin' a point."

Elena shook her head. "Well, at least you're still the same."

"Girlie, I was only gone four freakin' days. It ain't like you haven't seen me in years, so why you puttin' up all this fuss?"

She frowned. "Because you were missing for three months, and when we finally find you, you run off less than a day later! What was I supposed to think?"

He shrugged again, and Elena sighed. Having put her things by the rack close to the door, she walked to the kitchen and rummaged through the fridge for something to drink. Rude, having been silent, sat at the table and removed his sunglasses. Reno, catching the older man's expression, sat back down and folded his hands on the surface. They stared at one another as Elena sat bottled beers for them and took a seat for herself. She passed the bottle opener around and they cracked them open, taking chugs and gulps to settle down. The three sat in that silence for what felt like a minute, sorting themselves out.

"What is it about the job that scares you?" Rude finally asked.

"That I could end up dead 'cause of it. That you or 'Lena could eat it playin' the hero for a bunch of cowards who don't give a shit about us."

"Your...scared?" Elena prodded, surprised at the blunt honesty of the statement.

"Yeah." He muttered, taking up his bottle and drinking a healthy swig of the brew. "Come on, you know what I mean. We don't _have_ to do this. We can let someone else handle it an' enjoy ourselves. Don't either of you want a life where you don't run the chance of getting waxed every day?"

"But who else would do it? Reeve said that we're the only ones that want to help and have the talent to stand a chance at succeeding. The sector police are useless, and there aren't any elite units to call on. We are literally the only people who can do this."

"And just 'cause we can means we should?"

"Yes."

"It stands like this." Rude continued. "Currently the sector police are unable to effectively pursue the killer because their chief loses sight of their objective the moment he finds any Soldier to torture for their 'crimes'. Mayor Domino is against our involvement, forcing Reeve to use his personal money to pay for our home and employment, thus limiting our resources. With Soldier disbanded and partly our enemy, and the reserve members of the Turks out of contact, we are the only party capable of hunting the serial killer, and more importantly, willing to do so."

Reno snorted a laugh. "Us three, huh?"

"Five." Elena corrected. "Domino did assign a Soldier to work with Reeve, some woman named Atma. Reeve himself plans on using Cait Sith so he can help us fight."

Reno laughed again. "That thing!"

"I know, it sounds stupid, but he's convinced it can help. I think it'll only help as a decoy, but if it works, why not."

"So that's it, then. We're the golden boys and gotta save the world from evil, even if it means we get killed, like it or not."

"Reeve wants us to try and find other people to help, too, but so far we haven't had any luck."

"Well that's fuckin' dandy."

"I know it's a long shot, but did you run into any of the others after meteor?"

Reno considered the question for a few seconds, pursing his lips. "No. But...one of the newbies lived in sector eight."

"And you think he'd be there? After what happened?"

"Hey, I just said what came to mind, girlie."

Elena muttered disappointment. "He could be anywhere, then."

"Well shit, sunshine, I'm tryin' to be helpful, here."

"I know, I know..."

"Rude, you know anythin'?"

He shook his head. "Nothing more than what we've considered. The sheer volume of the inhabited sectors has hampered our plans since the start. There's no guarantee that we will have any chance locating old colleagues. The only logical place to find information on survivors would be at the government building."

"'Cept Domino's written us off." Reno scratched his head, idly running fingers through his hair. A sudden grin lit his features. "We could just sneak in an' have a look around, though."

"Sneak in?" Elena repeated the words, eyes wide. "Break into the new city hall? Why?"

Reno looked at her like she missed a glaring reason for his suggestion. "City records, girlie. If I was mayor, I'd wanna keep track of where people're livin'. Maybe we can see if he's got some addresses for some of our buddies."

"But how would we do it? We don't even know if there are records!"

Again Reno chastised her with his eyes. "Hello, blondie, we're _Turks_, remember? We break in an' look for 'em. It ain't like we have anywhere else to go."

She blushed lightly, forgetting that detail. She looked at Rude for support. "What do you think?"

Rude gave her a sympathetic look. "It sounds reasonable. We don't have many other options."

"When would we go?" Elena asked the redhead.

"Not tonight, fer sure."

"Tomorrow, then?"

A shrug. "Might as well. You both cool with it?"

"Yeah." Elena said, Rude nodding his reply.

"Then it's settled!" Reno finished the remainder of his beer. "Alrighty now, two questions: where's the john, and whose bed am I getting?"

_**---Somewhere in Sector Three**_

Consciousness returned slowly, filtering through the emptiness of sleep and pain. Bruises sang out across his face, his back, his legs. It took a minute, but he ushered forth the strength to lean up from his prone position on the ground. Opening his eyes, he saw that it was dark. A dim white light shone in through a window, telling that it had to be nighttime. He looked around to see where he was, taking in muted white walls and an empty wood floor, a lack of furniture or lamps to ward off the shadows, in an otherwise nondescript room. He lifted a hand to his face, gingerly touching his injury. The flesh felt raw, tendrils of pain radiating along his jaw and into his skull, reminding him of the beating he suffered at the hands of the Soldier. Recalling that his leg was hurt badly, he looked down and saw it was unchanged from his uniform pants. Experimentally, he lifted the leg up and wiggled his toes, feeling pain but nothing that otherwise hindered the bones from moving. He swore he broke it when he took that fall. His hand, too, was bruised, but otherwise still intact despite knowing the fingers had been stomped on and mangled.

A movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention in an instant, but there was only a skinny white cat taking it's time to walk across the room and bound out of the open window. He sighed, relieved it wasn't a monster, or worse. Had the Soldier abandoned him somewhere to make a clean escape?

"Awake, hm?" Someone commented.

Again his eyes darted to the source of the voice, and he saw a darker shadow in the frame of a door, eyes that seemed to glow like fireflies but probably reflected moonlight since it wasn't normal for eyes to look like that. His expression changed when it dawned on him that no one normal had those eyes at all, that only Soldiers bore them as evidence to their indoctrination to Shin-Ra's ranks. Hands nervously padded at his waist, but his belt was gone and so were the pockets of tools and handcuffs and baton and teargas; no protection at all, meaning all he had was his bruised body. Against that Soldier, he was completely outmatched, at the complete mercy of a madman.

"Who're you?" Piper demanded, struggling to get on his feet.

The shadow didn't reply.

He was nearly forced to lean against the wall for support, unable to put much weight on his hurt leg. He tried to put the pain away and straightened himself out to prove he wasn't so badly hurt. It felt like he had to prove it to himself as well. "What do you want with me? Are you holding me hostage? It won't work, Varik doesn't deal with criminals."

"Let's play a game." The shadow suggested innocently.

"A...game?"

"_Yes_." It hissed. "It's easy..."

"What the hell-"

"You get a head start," The voice cut through Piper's argument, "and I try to catch you."

"Catch me? What the fuck is this?"

"You get one minute, Piper."

Piper hesitated in his reaction, wondering if this psycho was being legitimate. A sudden chill raced up and down his spine when he wondered what would happen if he was caught. Considering this situation he was struck by an epiphany, the reasons for the kidnappings and the murder and the time between. Being caught meant being beaten to a pulp, brought back here, and released again for this murderer's enjoyment; from the time to their kidnapping to their discovery, they were running for their life from this madman, and killed once they were completely exhausted from repeated chases. To this man, the whole event was nothing but a game. Piper felt disgust rise in his gut, a raw sense of revolt at such brutal and sadistic entertainment. He looked at the shadow of the man, glaring for all it was worth. There was nothing to show that the man was concerned about the outcome.

"You won't get away with this."

"Maybe. Maybe not." The killer said. "Now you've got fifty seconds."

Piper stood still, conflicted between taking his chance to find someone and alert the sector police or to duke it out here and now and pray for a lucky victory. His bum leg would hinder him running, but it was proven that this man was much stronger than he was. Neither choice presented much of a chance at success. Besides, was the man even going to honor his word and leave him time to attack or flee until the minute was up?

"Forty five...forty four..."

Piper bolted.

With a burst of adrenaline, he cleared the windowsill as if it were a bump in the street, landing harshly in the alleyway in unfamiliar territory. Looking up, he saw the moon in a clouded sky, and immediately determined which way was north. The alley jutted to the southwest and northeast, and Piper ran south knowing it would lead to people and to rescue the soonest. He prayed, harder than his lackluster faith thought possible, that whatever God was out there would let him get to a phone and alert the sector police in time. If this was where the serial killer took all his victims, then he could find out what block it was in and corner the madman once and for all. He could become a hero for all of Midgar! But first, he had to survive.

The alley ended, dumping Piper into an abandoned street with no lights or sign of human activity down either boulevard; broken homes and shattered buildings were his only company, except a lunatic counting away in an otherwise hidden nest. He panicked, wondering which way was fastest, and turned right to head to the outer rim of the sector in blind hope that he would run into the budding shelters being constructed in the open lands outside of Midgar proper. He looked into the sky, hoping to see some light bleeding out from the active neighborhoods, but there was nothing out there except the half hidden glow from the heavens.

A sudden crash and clatter of metal nearly made him fall on his face, the shock so much that it froze him in motion. He recovered roughly, looking back and knowing that the serial killer was finally in pursuit. The killer probably made such a racket for the very reason of scaring the shit out of him, using psychological trauma to keep him unsettled. Piper tried to concentrate, knowing that if he was reduced to panic and terror, then he stood no chance of getting out alive. This was his only chance, when he was in the best shape possible to run and not hindered by further sprains or bruises or exhaustion. His breathing was sharp and shallow, muscles flexing despite pain and weariness, urged on by frantic mental commands. Body on adrenaline fumes, spirit raging wildly, he continued onwards knowing there was no other hope to believe in. Subterfuge was only possible in familiar grounds, random patterns only successful if given time and energy, neither of which were in his court. A straight run was his only gamble, an simple competition of endurance and willpower. Whomever could outlast the other would win the day.

Suddenly a terrible crackle erupted from behind him, and Piper felt a warm torrent of wind lash at his backside with more ferocity than any wind he felt before. It burned hotter, stronger, flayed his clothing apart and clawed into his skin and nerves, sent unparalleled agony through his entire body. The wind became so furious it lifted him up from the ground, legs churning in midair, and threw him like a rag doll into the asphalt of the street. He collapsed into a heap, too numb with shock to consider what had attacked him. Each heartbeat felt like a hammer in his head, transmitting the pain throughout his limbs. But he stood despite it, tapped into some pitiful reserve of strength and turned to face his oppressor, knowing the game was up. The killer was casually walking to meet him, smiling wide, eyes like windows into hell.

"Your turn's over." The killer announced, giddy.

Piper despaired. Hope withered.

_**---Reeve's Apartment**_

The sound of his alarm woke Reeve quickly from his sleep, but his limbs felt like iron and his muscles like taffy. Rolling over, he focused his sleep encrusted eyes enough to see where the snooze button was and pressed it with his thumb. Silence returned, and he turned over and slid back into rest. He repeated the process two more times and, finally unable to fall back into blissful dreams, stood up and turned the alarm off for good on the third. It was a quarter to seven in the morning, the sky dark with gray cumulus clouds that rolled across the city. Rain was probably a certainty today, or at least a good chill wind from the ocean that would dictate a heavy coat.

He walked out of the bedroom and into his bathroom to shower, brush his teeth, and shave his face and trim his goatee. Done, he trotted into the kitchen, pressing a button to start the percolator for his coffee. From the refrigerator he took out a block of cheese and deftly cut off two slices, then buttered up some bread and began grilling that on an electric stovetop pan. With the sort of pattern formed by habitual bachelorhood, he finished two grilled cheese sandwiches just as the percolator began gurgling and issuing out the tonic into the pot. Washing the whole affair of cookingware while eating one sandwich, he poured the coffee into a thermos and left the rest for the evening. Casual slacks and shirt went on his body, a tie loosely done around his neck, a worn out greatcoat and hat prepared him for the weather, and Reeve stepped outside his home and began walking for city hall. Munching on his second sandwich, he mentally prepared himself for what was to come. Today would be his struggle on behalf of the people who suffered under the shadow of the serial killer.

Weather feeling attune to his feelings, the wind slowly grew from a lazy stirring of dust to a breeze that whipped spent scraps and leaves across the avenues and alleys. Business seemed teetering on the border between going at full throttle or holding back on the account of the inclement setting. People hurried between doors and held their jackets closed. Reeve had to keep a free hand ready to leap on his hat in case a zephyr tried to snatch it away. By the time he finished the walk to the doors of the city government offices, droplets began pattering the ground regularly. Inside, the silence was deafening. The woman at the front desk waved a brief hello, turning her attention to paperwork scattered across the surface of her workspace. Reeve wasn't expecting much out of her, so he offered his own brief greetings and proceeded down a hallway and walked up to the second floor. He made a right and walked to the end of the hallway and opened the door to his small but private office. Inside he hung his coat and hat to dry, placed his thermos on the desk and had a nip to wake him further. Rather than deal with the paperwork necessary to the order of his investigation into the serial murderer, he picked up the already marked binder with the list of candidates and dossiers on current members and the pool of experience they had and needed. Securing his tie properly, tugging his cuffs, Reeve walked out of his office and took his time to reach the mayor's suite. Estrella waved him in, Domino expecting his visit. Inside, the mayor sat with his fingers steepled and his expression bordering between calm and annoyed, eyes lost on the surface of his oak desk. His aide sat in the corner of the suite, eyes watching the newcomer intently.

"Mister Domino." Reeve spoke.

"Mister Reeve." The mayor replied.

"I trust you know why I'm here."

"I do." He shifted in his chair, folding his hands together. He nodded. "Sit."

Reeve did so, sliding the binder onto the desk. "You've also read these reports, I take it?"

"Yes."

"Then you know what I'm going to say."

"I do, and I don't agree with it."

"Then can we be frank, sir?" Reeve waited for Domino to reply. The older man nodded after several moments. "You're being a complete idiot. We need more experienced men to take on this kind of task. As much as you hate to admit it, Shin-Ra had the best of everything and everyone. If you would just try to offer them some sort of middle ground, we could stop this and any future crisis without this much trouble!"

"You'd make a deal with the devil we just freed ourselves of? Reeve, you're asking too much of me."

"I'm not asking enough as is! We need the Turks on this, and Soldiers. The sector police are spineless cowards who follow any order that Varik gives. He just wants to inflict as much pain on Shin-Ra as he can. They aren't going to catch this killer, so someone has to take up the slack."

"I won't change my mind about those damn Turks, Reeve! Soldiers I would agree with, but they are so few to be found..."

Reeve growled, frustrated. "Did Varik at least get a portable generator for the tower?"

"I haven't heard any word of that yet."

"Dammit." It wasn't a surprise. Reeve expected that the police chief would ignore that request merely to spite him, even if it cost them days in the hunt. He was proving to be as hypocritical as the mayor. At least he wasn't so ambiguous about his feelings.

"Reeve, we're doing the best we can with what we have. We can't-"

"We _aren't_ doing the best we can! That's the whole problem, Domino, you just impose these useless fucking rules because of your personal grudge against Shin-Ra and still expect miracles! We can't win this fight without them."

"I won't beg for mercy when those bastards held us by the throat just months ago!"

"Then we _lose_!" Reeve barked. "We let murderers take control of the streets and this city _dies_! Do you want your last hurrah to be remembered as a complete failure?"

"We will make due with the men at hand!"

"And I say we can't!"

"We will!" Domino shrieked. "I will! This murderer will be caught, be executed, and once we finish Shin-Ra for good, we can start on the road to prosperity!"

"Then prove it! Here and now. What ace in the hole do you have that can help us?"

"We don't need an 'ace' to succeed. What we need are people willing to help us fight this tide of evil plaguing Midgar."

"Shin-Ra employees are willing. God knows there are lots of them willing to work for you." Reeve suddenly turned to look at the aide, forgetting the man's name. He recognized the glow of Soldier's eyes, however. "You, what's your opinion? Do you think we can win without Shin-Ra?"

The man seemed surprised to be spoken to, and his eyes flicked from man to man in obvious worry about who to side with. He took several seconds to compose a response. "What I think...is that this is a time for all people to cooperate and work together, regardless of the paths they once walked. Only together can we have the strength needed to overcome."

Reeve turned back with a victorious grin. "See? Even your own secretary agrees with me."

"Which is why he is merely a secretary and not a decision maker. He doesn't see the whole picture."

"And you do."

Domino frowned. "I've been mayor longer than you've been alive, Reeve. I know what it takes to be a leader, and how a leader must act in bad times. If the public sees us looking to the remnants of Shin-Ra for assistance, it will undermine their trust in us. We _must_ be the ones giving mercy, not the recipient. They'll think we've sold out to them and revolt otherwise."

"Revolt?" Reeve laughed. "You think they'd _revolt_? Right now they have trouble enough surviving each day! They need a strong organization to help them get their lives back together. They're desperate for leadership, even if it means working alongside people they once hated. Shin-Ra's employees are in this, too. We're all in this together, regardless of what we once were."

"They'll take over if we let them, Reeve! We have to keep them down and break them entirely before they can be trusted with power."

"You make them sound like animals."

"They might as well be!"

The two men remained silent at the parallel, both glaring at one another and daring him to try and disprove their beliefs. Their acquaintance had never been on good terms, and each debate had widened the gap between them until it seemed they were polar opposites to one another. Now, with the burden of finding the serial killer and their different opinions on how it ought to be done, the contest of wills came to a climax. It felt for a moment that the axis of Midgar's fate spun on their shoulders. When Reeve moved to stand, the world, for a moment, remained motionless in anticipation of his next action.

"Very well, mayor." Reeve spoke with all the courtesy he could muster. He reached into his shirt pocket and removed his issued government ID badge, then slid it onto the table. "You have my resignation."

"Don't be a fool." Domino spat. "You need me."

"Actually, it's _you_ who needs me. I'll capture this murderer without your idiocy hobbling my every step."

"H-Hobbling?" Domino stood as Reeve turned for the door. "Alex, I won't accept your resignation! You have an obligation to work for me!"

"Wrong."

"You _traitor_! You can't walk out on me! Eberhard!"

The aide, sitting unattended in the corner, stood and gracefully placed himself in Reeve's path to the door. The Soldier looked apologetic by his expression. Reeve, blocked, looked back at Domino with a glare. The mayor was resting his hands on the table, fingers gripping the surface as if holding onto it for sheer life.

"You were part of Shin-Ra, Reeve. You forced their laws onto this city with no legal right. You _created_ the damn plates that shattered the equality between the rich and poor! You're a monster, just as bad as Shinra was!" The mayor took a deep breath. "You must repay your debt to society. If you leave, I'll brand you with your crimes and hang you to rot!"

"Try it, then." Reeve dared. He looked at the aide. "Will you let me leave?"

The man remained still for seconds. Slowly, though, he stepped aside and allowed Reeve freedom.

"Eberhard!" Domino barked frantically. "Stop that criminal!"

The aide didn't obey the Mayor's order, and Reeve left the suite and headed back to his office. Feeling the adrenaline of the moment drop, he hastily gathered up the documents and reports of the case and slid them into his inter-office briefcase. Sliding on his jacket and hat, he headed for the lobby only minutes after arriving, feeling incredibly weary after the argument. He shook his head. Domino was beginning to lose his mind, it seemed. Clinging to his feeble truths, his false view of the world, it came as little surprise that reality would shake him so badly. Of course, his own abrupt decision to quit and be done with the ties that bound him came just as surprising, his audacity just as unfounded. Without the mayor's office, he wouldn't be able to ask them or the sector police for any assistance, or have the legal right to arrest the serial killer once he found him. Knowing the chief, he might even be arrested for murder if they got to him first. It would be a predictable outcome from a man like him.

From the lobby, Reeve went down a different hallway that reached to the far left wing. At the end of the hall was a door locked by a keypad. He typed in the six number code and the door unlocked itself with a notable buzz. Closing the door and flicking the lights on, he saw several rows of shelving units ladened with boxes of documents and old equipment. He looked down those aisles until he saw a familiar while shape sitting in an alcove halfway down. Just as he left it was Cait Sith and the plushy mog, the animated figures still as if dead. Reeve smiled a little at the toysaurus, recalling his times operating the machine and how much effort it took to play up a joksters attitude and mannerisms. Memories of his time with Avalanche were there, the good times and the bad. Hopefully he would be able to make a positive difference this time.

_'I shouldn't take too much time. If one of Domino's men sees me here, they might think the worst...'_ He reached down and opened the box that held the remote gloves and headset, blowing dust from them. He slid the headset on and adjusted the mike, then pushed a small button to turn it on. At the same time, a louder than he wished beep issued from Cait's head, declaring it was ready for input. "Unit online. Controller Alexander Reeve, serial ID four-six-nine eight-three-one seven-seven-two."

'Code accepted. Unit currently in standby mode.' The sexless voice detailed.

"Perform level one diagnostic."

'Diagnostic beginning...' The voice spoke. 'Estimated completion, thirteen minutes.'

Reeve shook his head. Too long. "Cancel diagnostic. Unit offline."

'Diagnostic canceled. Unit powering down.'

Reeve removed the headset and slid it along with the gloves into his briefcase, having to compress them tightly so the locks clicked shut. He would have to run the diagnostic remotely and hope that everything was in working order so it could run on autonomous mode. Departing the storage room quietly, he went back down the hallway to the lobby. As he reached the double doors and pushed them open, the sound of hurried footsteps on the tile behind him drew his attention. He looked back to the hall and saw a middle aged man jogging to meet him, dressed in business finery that not many others invested in these days. The man didn't look like he had seen where he just was, so Reeve waited until he arrived to see what he had to say.

"Mister Reeve! Glad I caught you." The man breathed sharply.

"You are...?"

"Hart Adagio. Deputy Mayor." He offered a hand, and Reeve accepted it warily.

"If this is about what Domino said..."

"No!" Hart denied. "It's about the mayor, yes, but not what he accused you of. My office is next to his, so I overheard most of what you two talked about."

Reeve wondered if their argument had been that loud, or if the walls were that thin. No one seemed to pay them any attention, and neither did they step outside to even glimpse the reason for why it stopped or who instigated the row. Apparently this Hart felt it necessary to get in his own words about the debate. "...So what do you want?"

"First off, I want to say that I agree with you. We need to work together to get through this crisis, even if it is with Shin-Ra. I hate them, but that doesn't mean I'm blind to the reality we face. Right now we need to concentrate on rebuilding the city instead of reforming the whole system. We're just figureheads until things settle down, just voices of reason and leaders, not upholders of the law. Domino doesn't really understand this."

"Mmm-hmm."

"What I mean is...Domino is a dying breed. No one here really likes him, and his intrusive nature has been slowing progress everywhere. Even his family doctor tells me that he needs rest, that the tension is making him physically ill."

Reeve held up a hand. "I don't mean to rush you, but I need to go."

Hart nodded. "Of course. You resigned under duress, but it was your choice. If things were different, would you consider coming back to help?"

"Different how?"

The man tapped his ear knowingly. "I can't say. But your resignation will stir up a shock. It might be a catalyst for change, and for the better."

"Uh-huh."

"Keep your phone on. I'll call you shortly, hopefully with good news."

"Alright."

"See you soon."

Hart turned and walked back into the innards of the building. Reeve opened the door completely and stepped outside into a wind driven rain. He buttoned his coat closed and ensured that his briefcase was shut completely, then strode onto the sidewalk and began a hurried pace for sector three and Delikatessen to meet with the others. Again, there was much to discuss and many things to explain. Nearly three weeks since the start of the investigation and he went from the full support of the city to alienating both the mayor and chief of police and paying for his team out of his own money. It wasn't at all the sort of future he anticipated.

-----

"Damn it, Eberhard! What the hell are you doing!" Domino yelled at the aide.

Eberhard, dropping the mask of complacent formality, turned on the mayor with a snap. The man jumped a little, shrinking back until his legs bumped his chair. He grinned, taking deliberately slow steps closer to the mayor until he was standing right in front of the old man. Domino looked afraid, but held himself tight in control of it.

"What is it, mayor? You wish me to incriminate a man for no reason other than he refuses your order? My, but doesn't that sound familiar..."

"You would dare...!"

"I _would_, mayor, oh yes I would." Eberhard leaned forward and placed his hands on the mayor's desk, and the mayor himself fell back into his chair with a squeak. He glared, smiled, acted and felt like a hunter teasing his prey. It was so easy to get back into old habits, to use the subtleties of voice and position to control the actions of others. Three months had been a long time to keep the Soldier imbued tendencies at bay. "I've listened to enough of your contradictions to know that you'll never succeed at leading this city into prosperity. I dare say that Midgar would be better off if you had died along with the old government in meteor's wrath."

"You-"

"Silence!" The aide barked, getting his response. "I've offered myself to you as an asset, and you waste me by keeping me as a bodyguard and courier. Your bigotry hinders this city beyond it's capacity to compensate for, and evidence says it will continue until the old train of thought is permanently removed for a new vision. But, I haven't the patience to continue working from the inside to instigate change. I will place my energies into other agencies that take a more prudent path to renewal. I follow in mister Reeve's footsteps."

"Just a moment, Eberhard!" A third voice asked.

Both aide and mayor looked at the door to the suite, and saw the deputy mayor standing there with other people from the government behind him. They all filed into the room and closed the door, then stood by the rear of the room as Hart and another man approached. Eberhard stood up and wondered why so many others followed the man inside, and who this person was that stood by the deputy with an air of superiority. Was it the deciding moment? Did their arguments finally broach the beginning of change? The two stood before the mayor, but Hart looked towards the aide with a hopeful expression.

"Would you hold off your decision a minute more?" The deputy mayor asked.

Eberhard wondered what the man had planned. That glimmer of hope made him pause, enough that he took a chance. "I will."

"Thank you."

The second man, dressed in a sharp suit, pulled a folded letter from the inner pocket of his jacket. Opening it, he took a breath and began to read. "Mayor Albert Domino, in accordance with regulation three hundred and sixteen, article seven, I declare that you are mentally unsuited to the task of leading this community and hereby revoke your title and legislative powers. This decision is hereby noted by both verbal contract and written consignment by the standing members of the executive board along with myself, Judge Jerico Fenris, as avatar of the law. Until a suitable replacement is voted into office by the executive board, deputy mayor Hart Adagio will receive full powers as proxy per the summation of these actions and taking the oath of office."

Domino's eyes were wide as he listened to the words being spoken, hands curled into skinny fists on the tabletop. When the judge lowered the paper, he stood up in a rage and looked at the people around him. "You fools! You're all betraying me! You want to lead this city into ruin!"

"Domino," Hart said kindly, yet just as gripping, "You've been leading us downwards since the beginning. Your arrogance has blinded you. You are casting the shadow that you fear will destroy Midgar, but you won't admit it for fear of losing your power."

"I fear nothing! My only concern is that we don't allow Shin-Ra to poison this city again!"

"Shin-Ra is gone."

"They aren't! They're waiting for a weakness, then they'll stab us in the back as soon as they find it! Am I the only one who sees it? No...are you all traitors, too! Did Shinra buy you out? Is this how he'll do it?"

"Domino, we aren't-"

"Don't deny it! I see you, now...you've all been plotting against me to get Shin-Ra back in power! You use the laws to your own gain, just like before!"

"Sir-"

"I won't have it! I'm still mayor, and I _refuse_ to acknowledge your accusations!"

Everyone was grim-faced at the older man's rantings, listening to his delusion spin farther and farther as to justify his fears. As he bellowed out denials and repercussions, it was evident that the strings holding him together were finally unraveling. Decades of anger, frustration, and fear, spilling out in his words. It was almost poetic, but sad.

"Eberhard..." Hart began.

"I know." The aide nodded. He walked over to Domino's side and gently took his shoulder. "You should calm down, Domino."

"I won't calm...ergh!" He winced and stumbled as Eberhard applied pressure on the nerves in his arm. "You traitor..."

"To whom, a lunatic? Yes, then. You needn't worry about Midgar any longer. We can continue where you left off." He adjusted his grip to take the mayor's arm tightly. "Let's go."

"His doctor is in the lobby, and his son." Hart said. "They'll take care of the rest."

"Very good."

Eberhard led the unwieldy man out of the suite, having to push him along as the man rallied and screamed treason. The voice carried along for a while, but slowly drifted away until it was a ghost on the wind, then silent. The men and women inside the suite all looked to Hart, expecting from him their next tasks. Hart stared at the desk he served by for so long, wondering how often he thought of trying to be a worthy successor to Domino when he retired. He never suspected that this was how he could come to the position. Slowly, like an actor, he walked around the desk and sat down in the chair. From this perspective, the power and responsibility he sought felt heavier than anything he knew of.

"Mister Adagio." The judge spoke. "We should call in the remainder of the staff and begin the swearing. We have a full itinerary to consider."

He nodded. "Of course..."


	7. Seven

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

**: The Past Concluded :**

_This is the sort of thing a person ought to experience at least once in their life: livin' in the streets. It's a humblin' time. Makes you think a lot._

_But bloody fuck, I've already done my term out here!_

_If it weren't for that uptight bastard I'd still have a home. But no, he wants a fuckin' superhuman army at his beck and culls out anyone who ain't fit to his definition. God, I thought that we didn't have to deal with that kind of bullshit anymore since we cut our losses. I guess even guys like him ain't used to how things are. Still, he's got hopes for us, which is more than I can say we got on our own. But. Dammit, but it's gonna end up just like it was then! We're gonna hunt down the others an' drag them by their heels into this or cart them over to the cops. He doesn't even know what the hell else to do once we deal with that!_

_God damn it._

_It's better than livin' in the streets, but only a hair's bit better, an' that's the rub, wonderin' if it's worth the difference._

_-Lari_

_**---Delikatessen**_

Reeve stepped inside the shop and immediately shook off the water from his coat and hat, then walked down the length of the deli to the booth that he and the others normally reserved for their meetings. He saw Atma with her back to a wall, facing the door so she could keep an eye on the people inside. When he was about to take a seat, he noticed another person sitting in his usual spot. Said person looked up with a grin, but his eyes were ringed with darkness that subdued the humor.

"Yo."

"R-Reno?"

The redhead chuckled. "Jeez, it's like everyone's surprised I'm still alive."

"Erm...well, I just didn't expect you here from what Elena said."

"Girl doesn't know what to say."

"Well, it's good that you're here." Reeve sat down on the opposite bench, hanging his coat and hat on a hook in the aisle. "Might I ask why you changed your mind?"

"'Cause 'Lena and Rude'd both bug me until I did. Figured I might as well give in and lend a hand."

"I though it was-" Elena spat.

"_You_ thought, girlie. It doesn't meant it's what _I_ think."

"Don't be an ass, Reno."

"Just bein' honest."

"It doesn't mean you have to be rude, you know."

"What, you'd rather I lie about it?"

"No! But-"

"Well, which is it?"

"Ahem!" Reeve interjected. "I can see you're doing okay, Reno. Can we get started?"

The redhead rolled his eyes, slouching.

"Right. Elena, did you tell him what's happened?"

"Just what we're up against. I doubt he remembers since he was wasted last night."

"Alright, I'll start from the beginning. Right now, Reno, we are on our own. The Mayor is completely against having the Turks involved in the investigation, and the police chief is more interested in hunting down any Soldier he can find instead of going after the killer. That means we can't rely on any of them for help. Right now I want to find others to help us, you being the first. I visited with Domino this morning, and he is completely lost in getting revenge on Shin-Ra. I..."

"I what?" Elena asked.

Reeve shook his head. "I think that Domino is...he's accused me of being a traitor. I think he's losing it."

"You think he had it in the first place?" Reno jested.

"He was a good man, but the pressure is getting to him. His secretary, even the deputy mayor agree that we need to cooperate to get through this. Domino just wants to carry on his crusade against Shin-Ra until there's nothing left of them."

"There's hardly much, anyway." Elena commented.

"But he thinks it's enough that they pose a threat."

Reno snorted in humor. "So he's a nutcase. We write him off, same with the sector police. What's left, then?"

"Us. Whomever else we can find and enlist."

"Yeah, about that. I'm plannin' on breakin' into city hall to sneak a look at the records. You work there, know where they are?"

Reeve shook his head. "No."

"Why not, man? I thought you were still a big-wig with the mayor."

"I am, but...I'm working on civil projects. Public records is out of my department."

"Could you get in, then?"

"I don't know."

"Know anyone who could?"

"No..."

"Shit. So much for an easy job. Still, at least it'll be something to do instead of talk."

"Another thing." Reeve continued. "The deputy mayor, his name is Hart. He and I talked before I left to come here. He said that not many people are happy with how Domino runs things. He said that he wants to change that."

"How?" Elena asked.

"I don't know. He said he couldn't talk about it there. I think he was afraid someone would overhear and tell Domino."

"The old fart paranoid, too?" The redhead suggested.

"It wouldn't surprise me."

"An honest statement, finally." Reno sat up and leaned forward on his elbows, rubbing his temples. "Right. So, what we're gonna have to do is get into the city records an' try to find out where our buddies are shacked up. If we can do that, then we start searchin' the sector for the psycho 'till we hit paydirt and drag his ass to prison or a pit in the dirt. If not, we do it on our own. Simple enough. We got any hints? 'Lena?"

"Actually," Reeve brought up his briefcase, "I have reports from the sector police about the murderer."

"Let's see 'em."

Reeve opened the case and pulled out the full reports of the five victims, handing them over to the Turk. The redhead began scanning them quickly, eyes darting back and forth, brows narrowing at certain passages. He briefly looked at the pictures, referring to the text as needed. Nearly a minute passed before he grunted, lips curled, and set the paperwork down with a serious expression.

"The guy's got Jenova in him."

"We suspected that much."

"But he ain't a success."

"I think he might be. Why else would he have a number?"

"Dunno. But I know that there weren't lots of 'em. Sixty, maybe seventy, but not up to a hundred."

"When did you learn that?"

A shrug. "Rumors, whispers. People said that Hojo got fed up when he couldn't make another success like Sephiroth, so he quit the project. 'Sides, the President had him slavin' over the Neo-Midgar project and that ancient."

"So why would he had a number if he wasn't a success...?" Reeve wondered aloud.

"Beats me."

"Well, his identity and position aren't as important for now. We need to think about how to search the sector and how to get others to help us. Elena, Rude, did you have any luck aside from finding Reno?"

Elena shook her head. "No. None of the reserve members answered our calls. Most of them weren't in service, so I don't think we can count on more Turks for help. Even Rude is at a loss."

"Uh-huh. I've tried my end with no luck, but I did get the controls for Cait. I can get him out of the building tonight, remote or otherwise. Reno, you run into anyone who would help?"

"Nope. Hey, you said you left the cat there? Leave 'em. When we break in, you can control it and give us an extra set of eyes. We'll get the thing out of there for you when we leave."

"That would work."

"'Course it would. So at least that'll sort us out tonight. What can we do 'till then?"

"Try contacting more people, or search the sector. At the least we can tell people in the area to keep an eye out for strange occurances and to report them. If the sector police won't do their job, then we need to pick up the slack."

"So the same as yesterday." Elena muttered.

"Yes...uh, excuse me." Reeve reached to his belt and removed the vibrating phone and brought it to his ear. "Yes?" He listened as the other end spoke quickly to him in rushed terms. He nodded absently as the conversation carried on one-sided. "He did? Why? They planned it last week? So what now? Of course. They're all with me. Sure. Sure, we're at Delikatessen by sector police headquarters. That's fine. See you soon. Goodbye."

"What's up?" Reno asked.

Reeve slid his phone back onto his beltloop, smiling. "That was the mayor's office. It turns out we don't have to break in, the deputy-mayor just relieved Domino of his position and took over, and he wants to meet with us and get this investigation on track. We've just got our authority back on our side."

"Hold on, now. Hart? Wasn't he Domino's flunky? Rude?" Reno looked towards the older man, and was replied to with a nod. "He was? Damn, that guy's the new mayor? I thought he was just some paper pusher."

"He might be, but he's our best ally now." Reeve said. "He's sending a car to pick us up in fifteen minutes."

"Well, no sense in talkin' about work, then. Let's get somethin' to eat." Reno insisted.

_**---Conference Room #3, City Government Office**_

The interior of the room was warm from the presense of so many bodies; the irony was not lost to them that the air conditioner was running instead of the heater on a rainy winter day. The newly sworn mayor was sitting at the head of a large wood table, hands spread across a volume of documents and paperwork in front of him that needed his oversight. Several pens were by his side for signatures and notes. To his left was Judge Fenris and the members of the executive office, the people just below the mayor who handled the different departments of the government and the city. To his right, almost in complete contrast, were Reeve and his people just out of the weather and unaware as to the extent of the change that was occurring. Having arrived a minute ago, Hart had to break from his fervor of lawmaking to explain what his goals were for them, and what his own plans entailed for the future of Midgar.

"It's simple in concept." Hart commented lightly. "Right now we're just streamlining the efforts of reconstruction for the city. Individuals and companies from outside of Midgar have all the experience and leadership they need to get the job done without our interference; we're just ensuring that certain standards are upheld in the process. Other than that, we have the whole legal system to overhaul in the meanwhile. Shinra wasn't exactly fair-minded about lawmaking. But, those are concerns for us. Right now I understand that you have just as pressing a need to capture this serial killer and bring him to justice."

Reeve nodded. "Yes, sir. As it stands we need all the help we can get to flush the killer out of sector three. We simply don't have the manpower or leadership to do that."

"What of the sector police? Aren't they just as determined as you?"

"Determined, yes, but completely useless on account of the police chief. He puts his personal vendetta against all Soldiers ahead of finding the killer, and the police in turn follow his lead. Their efforts have given us results, but so slow that it might be weeks more until the killer is caught. Weeks more that the populace can't tolerate."

"Just how many people has this killer claimed?"

"We think twelve so far. An officer was recently kidnapped by the killer, and we think that he has less than twelve hours to live until the murderer kills him."

Hart arched an eyebrow. "So soon?"

"The killings seem to differ, but fall into a thirty six hour average. Officer Piper was taken almost a day ago, so I must anticipate the worst."

"Have the police made any progress?"

"They caught a Soldier shortly after Piper radioed in a distress call, but I know he isn't the guilty party. Varik, though, is more than prepared to torture the man for any information he has. He hasn't spoken to me since then. Could I be frank, sir?"

Hart smiled lightly at the meek request. "I'm not an overlord, Reeve. Speak your mind."

"Thank you. Domino originally came to me and requested that I create an elite unit of people to work alongside the sector police. I think he did so because he didn't think they were good enough to stop the killer, and because I worked with Avalanche for a time." Reeve motioned to the others sitting alongside him. "As you can see, only Atma was officially assigned to work with me. The Turks, I assume you remember them, I brought on with my own money because of their talents. Domino would not stand to work with them, hence my choice. Even then Varik was not willing to work with them, and neither would the sector police itself. I've done the best I can, but this petty bias against Shin-Ra employees has hampered the investigation greatly."

"So, what would you ask of me?"

"Well...to start, to have the Turks be added officially into the unit, along with anyone I deem fit to the job. I don't want to say this, but unless you could convince Varik to accept us equally, I don't know what to do except override his authority."

"Allowing the Turks on is simple enough; I'm sure your finances would appreciate it." A dull chuckle filtered through the room. "As to additional members to your unit, I can bring as much information from the emergency relief teams as you need. If there are people you want in Midgar, we'll do all we can to locate them for you."

"Thank you, sir."

"As to the problem with Chief Varik, that will be tougher to solve. Sector police is badly understaffed because of the crisis, and we need leadership. Despite your words, I've heard much praise about the new chief from the police themselves. They get along well with his brand of authority and command, even if it is misdirected. I will see to it that he is reminded sternly about his goals, and that I won't tolerate this killer's mark on this city any longer."

"Thank you."

"You are welcome." Hart looked to a person at the end of the table. "Wikker, you will send the message as you see fit."

"Of course, Mayor."

"Conerad, ensure that any records we have of people are available to mister Reeve. Shelters, hospitals, those sent to other towns, anything."

"I will do my best, sir." Another suit replied.

"Excellent." Hart crossed his arms lightly, an idle gesture. "I'll anticipate good results because of this, Reeve. I want you to know that everyone is behind you, so there won't be any lacking of authority to hinder your search. If you need anything else, tell me now so it won't delay this more than necessary."

"If I may." Rude spoke.

The occupants of the table looked at the once-silent man, curious, Elena and Reno especially. The Turk leaned forward slightly to get a better eye to eye contact with the mayor before continuing. "Do you have communications to Junon?"

"At the moment, only by small aircraft. PHS services are still being repaired for outer-city calls."

"Would it be possible to charter an airship or helicopter to go there?"

"Certainly. Junon's engineering teams send regular flights for manpower and material. Sending you wouldn't pose a problem. May I ask why?"

Reno snorted in humor. "So we can get some people to help us out. _Duh_." The redhead smirked at his comrade. "Good thinkin', dude."

"Whom do you mean?" Hart asked.

"Other Turks, man! Jeez, you think we're all in Midgar? Ol' Rufus stationed some guys there when he took over an' never recalled them during the crisis. If they haven't ditched us, then maybe we can find 'em."

"Is this true?"

"Why'd I wanna lie about somethin' like that? God, you- ooph!" He winced when Elena jabbed him with her elbow. "Hey!"

"Don't be rude!" She whispered harshly.

"What he means is," Reeve began loudly to get them to stop arguing, "that they stand a better chance finding allies in a city that isn't broken down. It would be faster than to hunt for persons in Midgar who might not be alive, albeit I still believe we need help from those who live here."

Hart nodded in understanding. He had been considering asking more of Junon to speed the rebuilding of Midgar along, but hadn't thought of the military value the port-city could offer. It was the second most defended position that Shin-Ra owned, and was home to their airship and naval batallions. If there was anywhere else to get power from, it must be from there. But what allies there would the Turk want to bring? More of their ilk, or unknowns? Little fears shifted in his head, but he pushed them below and reiterated his belief that they weren't going to betray them or bring them harm. There was enough trouble getting everyone to work together already.

"I'll see to it that he goes with the next flight. I assume your man will go?"

"Rude can see to it." Reeve answered. He looked back at the man. "How long would you need?"

"Only a day. If whom I seek isn't at station, they each have apartments in the upper district; I know their addresses."

"Very well. Is that all, then?"

Reeve smiled while standing. "This should be good enough to start with."

Hart followed his action. "Agreed. I wish you and your colleagues the best of luck."

"Thank you, sir."

The group stood up and filed out of the conference room, leaving Hart along again with the endless beurocratic war to continue. He took the documents concerning the serial killer and turned them face down at the corner of the table, then slid the next agenda item to the forefront: numbers on the population living in the tent city outside Midgar, and materials lists and recommendations that needed approval. He frowned at them, gathering them into their folder.

"Cort, take these. I don't have the time to waste on authorizing aid. I know you'll handle them fine."

The members passed the file down until it reached Cort, and the man tapped them on the surface to even the papers inside. "Thank you, sir."

Hart stood then, feeling agitated and tired from the meeting. "Gentleman, ladies, I've had enough. Domino was happy to be an overlord over your jobs, but I have faith that you all can perform excellently without me looming over your shoulder. Take these papers back and use your own discretion as how to act. Cort, Conerad, Mary, if anything is needed to maintain the shelters and keep basic services moving, get them with my blessings. I don't want to see you here with requests like these again."

The three sounded their understanding.

"Wikker, I don't need to remind you to keep the police running strong. Illea, Oberon, I want the both of you to take a heavy look at sector one and be creative. Since most of it has been flattened, I want it to be the starting point for a new Midgar. Don't limit yourselves, but make it quick. We all know that the sooner we have permanent homes in clean streets, the better moral will be."

Those three also agreed to Hart's orders.

"Trent, I want you to double your talks with other city leaders. Midgar needs outside support desperately, and I'm thinking that people are hesitant because they are afraid. Remind them of the human suffering, even if it means playing on emotions; I won't feel bad if we have to guilt others into helping if it means saving lives." Hart looked at each of the persons in the room, seeing pride and determination in their features. These people would be famous in the years to come, known as the ones who pulled this city from the ashes and into prosperity once more. He smiled widely in that pleasure. "That's it, people, let's go."

_**---Somewhere in Sector Three**_

His senses all felt dulled, like they had been hacked at by rusty tools and worn away to miserable semblances of what they once were. His nerves felt like they were on fire, which they had been several times in the last series of hours. Eyesight was muddled by unwanted tears and exhaustion, his nose was broken out of alignment and was stuffed with blood and mucus, his limbs felt like they were tied down with weights. It was entirely unlike any sort of weariness he could ever recall. The worst of beatings, even all nighters on surveillance seemed so minor compared to here and now. No matter how he tried to lay on the floor, his body ached and his bruises radiated pain into an overwhelmed mind that wouldn't submit to unconsciousness. The artificial drone of magic, curative spells and ability boosting mantras, sung though his veins and tried their hardest to keep moving a body rapidly falling into coma. He couldn't imagine anything worse, couldn't think outside his own body's hurts and how each little twinge meant something else was dying inside. In less than a day, or however long it had been, his world had become this room and the immediate six blocks surrounding it, and the God who ruled stood leaning in that doorway with his chesire cat grin and burning mad eyes.

"Time to play, Piper..." The killer said tauntingly, as if teasing a pet animal.

Piper couldn't even find the motivation to argue with the killer, or even vocalize an argument. He took a deep breath and winced, the gasp sounding like an old gate closing. He tried to get up, to continue this game, but his arms and legs only barely scooted across the floor. Unable to sit up, he rolled onto his side and gritted his teeth at the several bruises and badly healed cuts on his arm, then succeeded on getting to all fours. With care, he slowly crawled forward until he reached a wall, then placed his hands on it to support himself. It took effort, actual effort, to put some of his weight on the wall and stand up without falling over and hurting himself further. Turning his eyes, he saw the killer watching him with his inhuman patience.

"Is it painful?" The killer suddenly asked.

Piper took a breath, tried to speak. All that came out was air that sounded like a curse.

"So...that's it? You're at your limit?"

No response.

The killer shook his head. "Tsk tsk tsk. Below average, and for a policeman! How disappointing."

"F-fuck you..." Piper managed.

"But still angry! That's good. It means a good last show."

The killer reached into one of the many small pockets on his person, and he pulled out one of the many materia that he had used. Piper understood now the whole ordeal that the victims experienced. The killer would catch them, heal them of their injuries from the beginning, and set them loose only to be caught again. As the process repeated, more spells were needed to keep the victim strong and able to perform. However, magic had it's limits. Soon wounds appeared that couldn't be healed properly, or not at all. Exhaustion, fatigue poisoning, began eating at the mind, and spells for haste and spells for ridding those toxins were applied. Delusions set in, violent tantrums or outright emotional breakdowns occurred that no spell could stop. Piper knew his ribs were healed unevenly, constricting his lungs and prodding at muscles. His leg was healed askew, forcing him to move pigeon-footed. Even as doped on magic as he was, he still felt ready to collapse into a heap.

The killer snapped an orb into the slot bracelet on his wrist, then lifted that arm and began humming the mantra to a spell. He smiled widely and looked directly at Piper. "No more playtime, Piper. It's the end. Let your rage do all the work, it's all you have left. Go _berserk_."

A fantastic array of sparkling lights and ribbons spun across his arm, then bolted over to Piper and wove themselves across his eyes and his head. It felt like a sudden heat washed over his body, the sort of dry heat you only get in a desert like Corel. But it got hotter in his body, and his muscles felt like jumping out of his skin. Even with the pain, he felt a terrible impulse to get the heat out overcome his mind, and then the thought came like a crack of thunder. 'Kill them.' It boomed in his mind, emptied out all other concerns and worries, became the axis of his world. 'Kill them.' Piper looked at the killer, and anger so intense it felt like pain drove him to take action. The man had to die this instant! There was no other alternative.

"_Killer!_" He screamed raw.

Limbs acted, and he whirled away from the wall with his fist raised up to give the Soldier a right hook square in the jaw. He succeeded, and the killer actually stumbled back into the other room with amazement in his eyes. Vision was sharp red, the blood pulsed in his ears. The thought roared for action, and Piper smiled as wide as he could knowing he could perform to appease it. He whipped back with a left jab just beneath the ribcage, struck with the right on the nose, then the left. He laughed when possible, elated that at last he could give the killer the beating he deserved. The Soldier just took it all without fighting back! It was every possible dream come true, and nothing to deny him. Fists stained with his blood pounded on his face and into his gut, and the killer acted like it was nothing. Piper cackled madly. He was going to kill this man and anyone else who ever denied him anything. Today was going to be a day of vengeance.

But, impossible as it was, the killer caught his left hand in air and pinned it still. Piper snarled and tried to snake in a rigid fingered jab into the throat, but that hand too was captured and held. Fury overwhelmed him, and he thrashed around and yelled to get free and continue the beating. He savagely leapt forward, head angled just right so that it further mashed the bones in the killer's nose and left speckles of blood along his face. With one leg he kicked downwards onto the killer's kneecap, three times before the Soldier stumbled. He wrenched his hands loose, stood still a moment in indescribable rage, then laid into the killer's face with a punch so severe he felt his own knuckles crack as they bore into skullbone. Again and again he struck, but the killer merely sat half kneeling and took the abuse in stride. Piper tried to wind up a great haymaker, but the muscles were cramping and getting numb; the punch was no more brutal than those before. He tried again and again, but every try seemed to eat up more of the precious energy left in his body. The thought bellowed for action, spun his mind faster than lightning, but a tiny grain of consciousness knew that his body was literally shutting down by the second.

As if waiting for that very thought, the killer suddenly leapt up from his position on the floor and grabbed Piper's throat tightly. He actually lifted the man up, then heaved him backwards into a wall with a terrific crash of moldy plaster and wood. The berserkers trance that held onto Piper disappeared as quickly as it came, and complete exhaustion left him spent and empty like a broken bottle. He slumped onto the floor, wide eyed and horribly aware.

The killer licked his lips, smearing the blood across his skin. "Oh...! That was so good, Piper, so _very_ good."

He stepped forward and crouched in front of Piper, took a hand and lifted it for them both to see. "Come on. Fight."

Piper tried to, the ghost of his anger still present. All he managed was to curl his fingers around the killer's like a child. The killer suddenly used his thumb to pin his little finger back, and slowly applied pressure until he bent the digit back with a meaty snap. Piper whimpered, unable to cry any louder.

"Fight, Piper."

The killer moved his thumb and broke the officer's ring finger.

"_Fight_."

The middle finger went next. Piper picked up his free hand and balled it into a fist, then tried to punch his tormentor; it was barely a tap on the face. The killer smiled, then broke the index finger. Piper tried again, but was so weak he grabbed onto the killer's matted hair and tugged it pathetically.

"Don't give up. Fight back!" The killer demanded, grabbing the thumb violently and breaking it and discarding the hand away. "Fight! Fight dammit!" He snatched away the other hand and methodically broke each finger on that limb, then threw it away like a petulant child. He grabbed Piper by his hair and slammed the man's skull against the wall. "Don't stop now!"

Piper looked at the killer with blurry vision, feeling his mind lose it's concentration. Pain, from so many sources, induced shock in his nerves. He felt numb, so cold after the adrenaline fury of the rage-trance. Little random thoughts crossed his mind, about how he was expecting to be demoted to desk work for his poor performance in the street, how that vacation nine years ago to the Gold Saucer cemented his marriage with Elaine, how much he hated the taste of the cheap beer from the pub on eightieth street. One thought insisted he was seeing his life passing before his eyes, and that it wasn't as dramatic as he wished. Not enough musical flair, his high school drama teacher reiterated, would mean that the audience was less likely to recall it in the future. Piper settled for father's piano music with that C that was too sharp for it's grouping. It would have to do.

He knew that the killer was screaming at him, and the vertigo he felt meant that he was still being pounded into the wall like a door knocker. The pain had lost it's edge, though, and left behind a numb sensation like having a dead arm from sleeping on it funny. His vision was graying out, becoming fuzzy like the old photos from his grandparent's albums in the attic. Movements were becoming jagged, uneven like a bad movie film. Piper closed his eyes and felt the numbing sensation take a firm hold, and the efforts of living were scattered away. He thought he smiled when he realized how much effort it took merely to _live_, and how comforting it was to ignore it for the firs time. It was wonderful.

-----

"_Piper!_" The killer screamed, shoving the head into the wall once more.

The man didn't respond.

The killer stood and walked away, arms gesticulating to the empty room as anger flooded through his mind. Why? Why was it that no one could ever last long enough to satisfy him? Why did these people have to be so weak, so pathetic? He knew they had the potential, gleaned from so many insane rages he overcame and so many fights he partook of, but what else was missing? Was it something as basic as strength, or was it the spirit? Did they merely lack the will to continue on even after being completely broken? Piper missed it; all of the people he took did. What was it?

He paused in his silent monologue and looked back at the man, and he saw so much wasted potential in that flesh. Given the chance and the time, that person could have taken that anger and molded it into power. But instead his society told him to be satisfied with such weakness, his culture undemanding of better performance. The killer ground his teeth. This was going to be long and unbearable task, but someone had to prune the weakness out of these people. Only the strong had the right to live, the weak left to be killed by the strong. It was the ultimate law. But, it didn't mean that the weak were deserving of their fate. If only there was enough time...

A shake of the head, and the killer released a held in breath; there was no more time left. In the wake of meteor, in the anarchy that would permit these changes to become permanent, he had to act quickly to ensure the law was to be upheld by everyone. No more ripe a time for social revolution would come in his lifetime, and he had to do what he could.

Putting aside his mercy, he strode over to Piper and began to strip the man of his things. Today would be a day of rest, and tomorrow would mean another put to the test.


	8. Eight

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

**: The Past Concluded :**

_I think, if given time and patience, that we can pull this off._

_Midgar may be a ghost of it's former self, but we're making due with much less than Shin-Ra ever started with and achieving more than they could imagine. Plans for new neighborhoods and districts are pouring out of my staff's heads, and Junon's engineer corps are making short work of the slums and turning them into proper homes. Heh, it's been said more than once that this is the first time that some of the citizens have ever had a room to themselves. I find it funny and disturbing that a worldwide crisis was needed to make it happen. Still, these latest reports from the corps leaders are piquing my interest. Many of them agree that rebuilding the slums is taking too much time, and that building an entirely new city just outside Midgar proper would be cheaper, easier, and faster. Some of my people think it would be a huge symbolic gesture for a new start. They call this plan 'edge city project' for a lack of better names._

_They fail to see that it also would be a symbol of our failure to revive Midgar, and in turn, leave us that corpse of a city to remind us of that failure._

_It's a delicate time to wonder about grand gestures such as that. Once this meeting starts, if it turns out that leaving Midgar behind would be better for the people, then so be it. Perhaps an 'edge city' is better than a half-mended one. Perhaps we need this reminder of our sins so we don't repeat them._

_-Hart_

_**---Runway three, Shin-Ra airship depot, Junon Harbor**_

The airplane, one of the smallest models that Rude ever saw, rocked a little as the landing wheels struck the asphalt and the brakes engaged, slowing them from flight speed. The plane taxied uninterrupted across two landing strips, heading for the boxy hangars packed with others of it's ilk. The radio issued orders for the pilot, and the man deftly led the propeller propelled machine to the last of the buildings and slid inside to an arranged space painted off in a reflective white. The flight finally at an end, the engines spun down and the co-pilot stood and unlocked the passenger door, shoving it outside to the still loud drone of the props. He deferred first exit to the Turk, and Rude took it with a nod of thanks to the men for accepting his silent passage. The air outside was moist and salty, a breeze flowing offshore with the scent of smoke and industry from the city. Once he finished tugging his sleeves and pants into place, he saw a few people dressed in suits walking in from a car parked by the hangar doors. He proceeded to meet them, recognizing one of the lesser commanders for the presidential security division. The others, he presumed, where his subordinates.

"Mister Rude." The commander shouted over the noise. "Welcome to Junon Harbor."

"Thank you for meeting me, commander."

"Your request was received, but I'm sorry to inform you that your person of interest no longer works for us. He quit as soon as word of the President's death reached us, didn't even bother with formalities." The commander snorted in disgust. "Lots of men abandoned the company just as quickly. Goes to prove loyalty is rare these days."

"Loyalty to a dead man is foolish."

The officer glared at Rude, obviously upset but too afraid to openly insult the Turk for fear of the repercussions. He instead frowned. "Loyalty in and of itself requires no figurehead. People who abandon anything or anyone at the drop of a hat aren't worth my spit."

"Indeed."

"Well, small talk aside, I cannot do much for you. All we have of the man is his last known address. There are others within my command I would recommend in his place, but I presume a person such as you would prefer your own kind."

"I'm afraid your men are too loyal to consider working under others."

The commander snorted again. "Very well, then." He turned and began walking away.

One of the suited men approached Rude and handed him a small piece of office notary. It had a home address, phone number, and a second address in the commercial district.

"He's seen there frequently. It might help to look there as well."

Rude accepted the paper. "Thank you."

The man followed his superior, leaving Rude to himself. The Turk reached into his jacket and took out his phone, then checked the number he had programmed into it against the one on the paper. They matched, so he knew that the man wasn't really planning to completely disappear from society and start anew. He dialed the number and turned away from the ocean breeze. It rang four times before the other end picked up.

"H'lo?" The person asked.

"It's Rude."

"What's rude?" A pause, but the man chuckled before Rude could correct him. "I know, I know, it's you. What can this reservist do for you today?"

"We need to talk."

"Let's have it, then."

"In person."

"Oh...I see. Proof of absence 'n all. It's really not that big a deal since Shinra's dead, you know, but I guess old habits never die with you guys."

"Where can we meet?"

"How 'bout the Red Riot. It's next to lift seven on Parrin."

"Fine."

"See you in twenty?"

"Right."

Rude ended the call, then headed to the idling car with the officers. It would be an interesting meeting, he knew.

The trip out of the airfield was done in silence, the commanding officer unwilling to speak with the Turk who spurned him and insulted his men. They dropped him off just outside the confines of the military installation, and Rude only needed to wait for a minute before a taxi drove by and was flagged down. That trip was also taken in silence save the tinny din of a radio newscast and the occasional rushed statements from fellow cabbies. The small car drove towards one of the large hydraulic elevators that rode up and down the various levels of Junon, taking a space inside while others slid in like parking stalls. A klaxon sounded, then the lift jolted and rumbled downwards towards the lower districts. It descended by two streets before the cabbie backed out and headed to the south. The street here was very wide to accommodate the traffic of personal vehicles, but it was still crowded and jambed in congestion. With a talent born of the job, the cabbie ducked into open spaces while applying liberal uses of his horn and several obscene remarks about people's mothers. Once he was close to the café, Rude tapped the man's shoulder and gestured that this was close enough. He opened the door and paid the man the necessary fee, then stepped outside and hurried to the sidewalk and the rush of pedestrians. In a force of habit, he looked around for anyone who struck him as being out of place in the general appearance of the crowds, but saw nothing that rang as a danger. He took a casual pace to the café, adjusting his sunglasses idly.

The Red Riot café was a small establishment tucked into the corner of a glass fronted business, modeled in a post-modern style that was sharp edges and many shades of dark and light red. The inside was noisy with the conversations of young people, plus the hissing and grinding of cookingware and coffeemakers. Rude glanced around and saw the man he wanted at a table in the middle of the room, his back to the door. He frowned lightly, then approached.

"Rude!" The man spoke. He turned around with a friendly grin, silently proving he wasn't letting his guard down. "Good to see you."

"It has been a while, Gin."

"Sit, sit. I'd like you to meet my wife, Nishelle."

Rude wasn't surprised that the man was already married, he expected as much of him if he wasn't tied down by the twenty four hour needs of the job. The fact was especially true when he took the time to notice how attractive Nishelle was. She was shapely and manicured, face open with emotions and expressions. She smiled widely and offered a hand.

"Nice to meet you."

Rude accepted the shake gently, then sat down between them on the circular table. "The same."

"So I'm guessing you're here on business." Gin sipped his drink. "Right?"

"I am."

"Don't be disappointed if I don't want a part in it. I've got other priorities to worry about now."

Rude nodded knowingly. Gin wasn't truly the sort of person that was capable of being a Turk through and through. He performed his job excellently, but afterwards he would lose himself in misery and guilt over what he knew had to be done. Doctors said that he suffered mentally from too much stress, internalized too many problems, and that the killings only exaccerated his moods. It was the reason why he remained a Turk in reserve for the many years he served. However, he reflected, there was no time to search for Turks who had a better reputation. Even with his flaws, the man had a talent with firearms and interrogation that could prove extremely useful.

"It's in regards to the murders in Midgar." He explained.

"Yeah?"

"After much debate and politics, I have been given the task to hire people to aid in finding this serial killer. Will you help?"

Gin chuckled. "I don't think you have a rambling bone in your body, but I like stories and details. Tell me about this killer. What's so special about him?"

"He is an ex-Soldier, likely a subject of the Jenova project. He has claimed thirteen victims and a possible fourteenth in nearly three weeks. The sector police are unable to do the job, so the new mayor, Hart Adagio, has ordered Alexander Reeve to head an elite unit to hunt the killer down. Thus far only myself, Reno and Elena, Reeve, and another ex-Soldier named Atma are members. We need more manpower to succeed, ergo my presence."

"Remember this, Nixie, you probably won't hear him say that much ever again." Gin jibed.

Nishelle laughed politely. "I know the stories."

"Will you join?" Rude asked again.

"Give a man some time to think, eh? It's not like I can still leave everything at the drop of a hat." Gin looked to the bar. "You guys hungry? Let's think this over some food. Nixie, love, would you get me a turkey on rye with spicy mustard? Rude, you want anything?"

"Coffee, please."

Nishelle stood to get their meal, but stooped and pecked Gin on the lips before doing so. The man watched his wife as she negotiated the tables and got into the ordering line, a smile on his face.

"God, I love that girl."

"Gin." Rude insisted.

"I know, I know." He turned back with a businesslike expression. "You wouldn't know it, but she used to be presidential security for Shinra himself before that general took him out. Four years in the service and she never lost that innocence; It's what made her so effective. I know what you're thinking, Rude. If she's that talented, then why don't we both go? The reason is that we gave up killing, swore that we wouldn't take on jobs that meant we had to kill someone because of what they believe in. That's why I'm hesitant."

"We're primarily after the serial killer."

"Now, but what about afterwards? Remember what Shinra had the Turks do? It was going after legitimate threats to the company and the public at first, but we soon became political hitmen to ensure no one rose to power against him. What guarantee is there that the same won't happen now? After Shinra, it's easy to see how quickly promises and justice fall away when power tempts." Gin grinned. "Just how much restraint does your new boss have?"

"Enough. Midgar will not become what it was, the people and the new government are frightened of such consequences. We have a chance to create a new mindset that is extremely wary of corruption in itself and in others. But, we need to excise the danger from the streets before we can accomplish this."

"Ergo, here we are."

Rude nodded.

Gin frowned, shaking his head lightly. "It's a tough call. I don't think I'm suited to help start a social revolution. Hell, it's hard enough finding _normal_ work to do."

"Agreed."

The man looked at Rude with an arched eyebrow. "This is it for you, then?"

"It is."

"And the others?"

"It suffices. We don't have any other viable talents to use."

"Yeah...I suppose any politician needs his secret agents to do the dirty work, and don't deny that eventually you'll be doing those kinda jobs once this 'killer' is caught. It's a natural aspect of government."

"It doesn't mean that it will be as brutal as Shinra's."

"But it could be." Gin lifted a hand. "Ah-ah, don't say it won't. Remember how easily ideals get twisted?"

"Then will you help me ensure that we keep the corruption in check?"

He cracked a grin. "Touché."

"What holds you here?"

"Nothing much. Our apartments in Midgar were destroyed, so we made a life of it here. We haven't really settled in, though, I'm sure you know why. Opportunity, then, could be had in Midgar, you think. We could be among familiar faces, among people who understand us, and of course we would be helping to rebuild our hometown. All pleasant and noble pursuits."

"Then?"

"You haven't touched on money, so it means it isn't much. However, I brought it up because it's no worry. Nishelle earned enough for us to live comfortably until the end of our days."

Rude idly nudged his sunglasses. "Please..."

Gin sighed lightly. "I know. Like I said, I have other things to worry about."

"She does not need to come."

"So you'd ask me to leave my wife on her own for an unknown length of time and run the chance of being killed?"

"Yes."

"Honesty...but that's what I like." Gin took another sip of his coffee, then tilted the cup back and swallowed the remainder. He wiped his lips, eyes wandering somewhere beyond the confines of the café. "I just can't make up my mind so soon. You understand, don't you?"

Rude nodded.

"Then, could you give us some time?"

"I leave at eight 'o clock."

"We'll have an answer by then."

"Thank you, Gin." Rude stood up and pulled out his wallet, setting a few crisp bills on the table. He then turned and walked out of the café and into the streets, wondering what to do with the time left to him. He decided to stop by Gunrunner's and catch up with the bartender and get a feel for the local attitude of the Shin-Ra remnants in Junon, or even find other Turks that called it their haunt. It would be the best place to learn whether or not this city was going to have the same social troubles as Midgar was heading toward, or how to ease into them if the revolution was already underway. At least it would be a chance to indulge in modern luxuries and forget, even for a short time, that the world was any different than the day before the President was slain and the crisis was begun.

_**---City Government Office**_

"So this is it, huh?" Reno frowned at the mechanical cat and mog.

Reeve nodded from his crouched position, adjusting settings from the mog's exposed torso. Since they no longer had to worry about stealing into the city hall to find records of their allies, it made sense to bring Cait out of storage sooner than later. It would prove interesting to employ the mechanical toysaurus in battle again, so Reeve wanted to ensure that it wouldn't run into problems in action. It was also so he could reacquaint himself with it's controls after so long.

"Yes."

"It never did look very threatening."

"That was the whole point. It needed to be common looking so Avalanche wouldn't suspect it as being anything other than it was. Cait _is_ combat capable, if that's your concern. Fighting against Shin-Ra and Sephiroth proved that much." He closed the mog's chest, smoothing the white fuzz to hide the fact. Standing, he then started checking settings on the cat. "It's even able to use materia to a limited degree."

"All I wanna know is how much use it'll be. No bullshit either, Reeve."

The man sighed. "Look, it's a robot, so that already makes it better than me at fighting. Cait can even run semi-autonomously, so it's just like having another member in the team. Of course I can take over all functions in necessary, but Cait can do most of the work on his own. I want to help, and this is the best way to do that."

"His?"

"Its, his, you know what I mean."

"I think that Reno just hates that it's always upbeat." Elena jested.

Reno grimaced. "It's just so...corny! I mean, it's a freakin' toysaurus! You know how ridiculous I'd look if I was carryin' on a conversation with you to that?!"

Reeve grinned. "Very, I think."

"Fuck you, dude."

"Hey!" Elena spouted.

"Hey nothin', blondie." The redhead retorted.

"Reno!"

"Ease up, girl."

"Then don't call me that."

Reno shook his head, rolling his eyes. "God, you're like a broken record."

"Both of you are." Reeve said. "Look, could you two behave? The diagnostic's almost done."

The three of them remained silent as the final seconds of the program wound down. A beep emitted from Cait's head, followed by a toneless voice in Reeve's headset. 'Diagnostic complete. All functions operating within tolerance levels.'

"Initiate bootup procedure." Reeve spoke into the microphone at his neck.

'Unit powering up.'

Cait suddenly twitched, and slowly it drew itself to a proper sitting position on the mog's head. It looked around with it's pupil-less eyes, taking a moment to seemingly focus on each person in the room. Looking down, it noticed the fuzz of it's companion and raised a paw, twopping the mog's head.

"Hey, Mog! You awake?" Cait shouted in a high pitched voice.

The mog shifted it's bulk, moving it's arms up and down experimentally. It's large eyes opened and it's grin widened.

"Good!" Cait then looked up at Reeve. "Alexander Reeve, right?"

"Yes."

"Who are these two goons?" It asked.

"Those are Elena and Reno. Both Turks."

"Ho ho! So these're the big bad Turks, eh? Not so scary lookin' if you ask me."

"Reeve, what's with this thing?" Reno asked flatly.

"He's running on auto. He strikes up idle conversation to gather data and report it back to me. It was useful when we used him to infiltrate Avalanche, so I didn't need to control it the whole time."

"So..."

"So right now he can act on his own within his programming. He's surprisingly talkative."

"Huh." Reno tilted his head a little. "So, how smart is the thing?"

"Smart enough to know when I'm bein' insulted, you jerk!" Cait snapped, standing up atop the mog.

"Wha...?"

It pointed it's hand at him accusingly. "Yeah, you heard right! Dolts like you think you can call me whatever you like. It's an outrage!"

"Oh, this is fucking _priceless_, Reeve!" Reno snarled. "Now I've got a toy insulting me!"

"I'll change it, don't worry."

Reno shook his head in agitation.

"So, what's up, Reeve?" Cait asked.

"We have a big problem on our hands." Reeve replied. "Your internal clock is synced properly?"

"Yep, it's ten thirty two AM, February fourteenth."

"Good. Currently we've been rebuilding Midgar's eastern sectors, but we're having trouble with a criminal who is killing people for no apparent reason. The sector police haven't had any luck catching him, and neither have we. Mayor Adagio wants us to put together an elite unit to hunt him down and stop him. Since you held up with Avalanche, it's only natural for us to include you in this mission."

"Mayor Adagio? What happened to Domino?"

"He was removed from the position. It's a long story."

"Alrighty. Hey, where's my megaphone?" Cait looked around his person and his perch to no avail. However, the mog lifted one large hand and opened it, revealing the small gold colored horn in it's palm. Cait snatched it and patted the mog's head. "Good job, ya' lunkhead."

"So, are you ready to go?"

"You think I got a choice about it? Let's go!"

"Good." Reeve looked up at the two Turks and nodded. "We should check in with Atma and Varik."

Reno snickered suddenly. "Oh yeah. Man, you earned some respect putting those two together."

Reeve smirked. "What can I say? He deserves it."

"Hell yes he does."

The four departed from the storage room and headed towards the back of the building, preparing to get one of the electric cars used by the government to give them a speedy trip to the sector police headquarters. Reeve moved with added zeal, happy that so many obstacles to his job were being demolished. With the complete backing of the mayor and eventually the police, it would be much easier to deal with the serial killer. He could consider the future without the present tainting his thoughts. It looked so promising! If they could rid themselves of the rogue Soldiers and criminals, then there was no limit to the society that they could usher in. A new city, a new population full of hope, and the strength in leadership to take them as far as they wanted to go.

_**---Yukio's Apartment**_

"I'm telling you, we gotta bring her back!" Holt demanded hotly.

Yukio shook his head in the negative. "It isn't necessary."

"Damn it, do you _want_ her to get caught? Worse? You wanna see her body propped up dead 'cause of that killer, or thrown into prison?!"

"She won't die, Holt."

"What kinda guarantee is that? She's just as vulnerable as any of us. Hell, you said it yourself that she's not up to par with her rank, so what kinda odds does she have out there?"

"Better than most people. She _is_ Soldier."

Holt threw up his hands and paced away, disgusted with the neutrality his leader showed about throwing out one of their prominent members. The moral of the thirds had dropped below zero, each of them afraid to show any sign of weakness in fear that they would be kicked out as well. They worked harder, but desperation made them prone to mistakes and tension. Even Farrah's normally sarcastic wit was toned down for brooding and empty glares. They hadn't gone out to hunt since the day before, an unheard of event. Yukio blamed it on the weather, but everyone else knew the reason why. Holt returned to the common table and slapped his palms on the surface, glaring at his leader without bothering to hide his disappointment.

"Why'd you do it, huh? What's the real reason you kicked her out?"

"I've already told you why."

"Bullshit!" Holt slammed his hands down, sending a stark metallic crack ringing throughout the room. "If it was just that, you'd have thrown her out weeks ago! I know, oh I know. She's always been the slow one, always behind on training and talent, but you never called her on it 'till now. You never give leniency to the thirds, but always make up reasons for her! You could've demoted her to third class, but you sent her packing instead. Now why would a rational man like you do such a thing?"

Yukio remained silent in Holt's accusations, eyes averted to a corner of the room in an absent gaze. Holt leaned over and forced himself into Yukio's line of sight. "You know what I think? I think you tried to score some pussy and got thrown out on your ass. I think you threw her out 'cause she wouldn't be your little sex doll and you got pissed! I think you screwed us all out of another Soldier because your precious fucking ego got bruised!"

Yukio stood up suddenly and stormed over to a window, turning his back on Holt to look outside at the sector. Holt grinned in morbid pleasure at the reaction.

"So I'm right, huh?" He jibed.

No response, only more attention on the outside.

Holt walked over and grabbed Yukio's shoulder. "Hey! You aren't getting out of this, buddy, no way."

Yukio tore his attention away from the window and hurried to the stairwell, wrenching himself out of Holt's grasp. Holt hesitated a moment, but followed him and was nearly ready to pull him down and beat the truth out of him. The man was taking the steps two at a time in his rush to get downstairs.

"What the fuck are-"

"Save it, Holt." Yukio snapped, voice still authoritative in power.

They both descended to the ground floor and to the main door, noting it was open with the usual doorman missing. Yukio went outside into the mild rain, and Holt didn't know what was up until he saw him. The doorman was holding someone up by their shoulders, leading them to the apartment in slow metered steps. Farrah of all people was nearby, a rag in her hand gingerly wiping at the person's face. Once Holt was close enough to see who it was, he actually gasped in shock.

"Lari...?"

Yukio, not wasting time with questions, took the woman into his arms and picked her up by her back and legs, then hurried back into the apartment building. Farrah rushed ahead and opened his door, then stormed upstairs to find medical equipment. Yukio took her to his bed and slowly lay her on the surface, careful not to agitate her arms or neck. He paused only a few seconds to look her over for severity of injuries, then pulled out a pocketknife and began cutting away her soggy, mud caked clothing. Lari herself was barely conscious, breathing slowly, eyes half lidded and staring at nowhere. Ribbons of cloth fell to the floor, exposing her arms and her torso. Her skin was bruised in many colors from new and old wounds, flesh pale and soggy everywhere else. Her breasts were marred with lacerations, shallow and untended and done with obvious intent to disfigure her. Farrah rushed in with an armful of bandages and medication, a free hand holding a slot bracelet with a single materia orb snapped into place. Yukio took it from her and held it out to Holt.

"Cure her." When Holt didn't respond, he shoved it at him angrily. "Holt!"

"Y-Yeah." Holt took the bracelet and snapped it on, then looked at Lari to see where to focus his attention. He grimaced at the vicious nature of the injuries, but pushed the emotional panic aside for the cold necessity of work. He lifted his hand and began gathering his strength, humming the mantra in his mind for the strongest healing spell he could cast. After several seconds, he cast the spell. A dizzying array of green lights spiraled away from his body and sank into Lari's, clotting cuts and rebuilding tissue where it had been broken, dissolving bruises across her body. Once the spell finished, he repeated it and gritted his teeth from the exertion it took to do so. He gasped for a deep breath, then took off the bracelet.

"I'm spent." He said, holding it up.

"Farrah?" Yukio asked.

She shook her head, apologetic. "I can't..."

"I understand." He knelt next to Lari and picked up her hand with his, holding it gently. "Lari? Can you hear me, Lari?"

She stirred lightly, turning her head to face his. Her eyes focused on his, and he could tell that she was still frightened by whomever did this. He gripped her hand tighter to reassure her.

"I'm here." He said softly.

"Yu...kio..."

"That's right, Lari. Can you tell me who did this?"

She gulped, then winced in pain. She took several breaths before opening her mouth. "Pocket..."

Yukio nodded, then scooted over to her pants and gently reached into the front pocket. His fingers felt something, and he tugged on it slowly. Once free, he saw it was a piece of computer paper folded into a small square. He stood and unfolded it, eyes scanning the paper for the words typed on it. Holt, standing quietly, felt panic rise in his gut when he saw Yukio's posture straighten and his muscles tense up. When Yukio's arm fell limply to his side, he knew it had to be something incredibly dangerous to shake the man so badly.

"What is it?" Holt asked.

Yukio held up the paper wordlessly, and he took it and looked at it. There were three lines of text printed there by a computer, and at the bottom was a small logo of the Soldier administrative office to verify it was a legitimate company message. Holt read the words, paused a moment, then read them again as fear made his gut clench.

_'You are not the only ones out there seeking solace,'_

_'but you are outnumbered by those seeking dominance,'_

_'and we will not abide to coexist with you.'_

"Oh my God..." Holt breathed. "Is this...?"

"We're too late..." Yukio spoke. He balled his hands tightly, quivering. "We're too late..."

"Too late?" Hart parroted.

"To god-damn late!" Yukio barked again, wheeling around to face his subordinate. "Get everyone inside and lock this place down, windows drawn and lights out. If they want to fight, we'll give them hell for every inch."

"But-"

"That's an order, Holt! There's no time for questions, so do as I've said!" He looked back to Lari, her eyes half lidded but still focused on him. He wanted to offer her some comfort, a pleasant lie, but he couldn't find the words. Instead he spoke to Farrah. "Watch over her."

"Of course." She said.

Yukio left his apartment and raced up the stairs to the third floor, noting that the thirds were already gathering and chatting. He swept past them and into the armory, opened the box of materia and the slot bracelets next to them, snapping an orb into each. He disregarded his baton, choosing instead a large belt with a heavy caliber pistol for the time being, sliding several clips into the free pockets. Done, he peeked back outside to see if Stoke was back, but the bearded man was nowhere to be seen. The instructor was still out on patrol of the neighborhoods for activity. Like Holt, he was getting tired of staying indoors and working the thirds in exercises, preferring a chance to get out and put his talents to better use so he didn't get dull himself. Luckily the man had a phone on his person, so Yukio drew out his own and speed-dialed his number, placing the receiver by his ear. It rang only once before the speaker clicked on.

"Speak." Stoke said.

"Get back here, now. We have a threat inbound."

"No can do, boss."

"No arguments, Stoke."

"Still can't. I'm tailing a mark who met with loyalist suits. This could be big."

"It's already past that. We found Lari. She tangled with rouge Soldiers and they sent her here bloodied. They're planning the same against us all."

Stoke chuckled lightly. "Then I might be looking at their backers. This is _big_, I tell you."

"Damn it, Stoke-"

"I'll call with news."

"Don't you...!" Yukio bared his teeth in disgust when he was hung up on. He redialed the number, but was met with a cut-and-paste voicemail prompter. He put the phone away, ruling out his assistance in the next twenty four hours. Mentally he considered the environment of his neighborhood, his apartment and the buildings next to it, wondering where and how the enemy would attack. There was no way for an attack by the roof unless they set ladders, but that was unlikely since it was forty some feet above them. Any of the homes around them could be used for snipers or spotters. The wood floors and walls were little protection to heavy caliber firearms. The rain meant firebombs wouldn't be effective, but it could still be a possibility. The whole scenario spelled disaster. If there was any effective command with the rouge Soldiers, they could surround them in short order and flush them out in due time, or lay a siege if they were patient. Their only hope was a fast response from the sector police if any gunfire broke out. Of course, that would be an anathema to their efforts as well, so there might not even be a gunfight. They would try to storm the apartment and take them all down before anyone could raise the alarm.

He stepped out from the armory holding the box of set bracelets, and the thirds all quickly stood to attention. Yukio took a deep breath. "Alright, we are now at threat level two. It seems like the rouge Soldiers have organized themselves enough to think they stand a chance at taking control of the sector, or perhaps all of Midgar. I've reason to believe they'll attack us soon, and attack hard. Right now we need to shore up defenses. We keep silent. Consider all surrounding buildings compromised, so no heavy moving or loud noises. No lights. No. Lights."

Holt emerged from the stairwell, clearing his throat. When the group looked back, he put his hand over the lightswitch. "Doors bolted, lights out." He threw the switch, putting them into twilight darkness. The illumination from the windows was barely enough to see by, a comfort to Yukio's nerves.

"Good. Since Stoke is out of contact, Holt and I will lead two teams." Yukio stepped forward, lifting the box. "If you're qualified, take a bracelet. Your orb defines your role from now on. Healers in support, the summoner on point, the rest primary."

"Should we get someone on the roof?" Holt asked. "Check the streets?"

"No. They'll notice, and we can't get word unless the spotter comes down. Post two people on the windows here," He pointed at one of the eastern facing panes, then the west, "and here. We stick to the second floor."

"We need to move Lari, then."

He only hesitated a moment. "Right. See to it."

The phone in his pant pocket vibrated, and Yukio drew it out with a frown, expecting to verbally reprimand Stoke for ignoring his order and putting himself into danger. He flipped it open with a snap. "Stoke, this had better be worth it."

"Not quite. Yukio, is it?" A foreign voice spoke.

He hesitated only a moment, wondering who it was on the line. The voice was deep and throaty, not familiar to him. "Who is this?"

"Oh, names aren't what's really important now, Yukio, I believe you have much more on your mind."

It didn't take more than a few seconds for Yukio to draw his own conclusions, especially as a shill ran along his spine to his toes. Either Stoke was just incapacitated by the people he followed, or the Soldiers had Lari's phone. The thirds was standing around him, hands reaching for the box of bracelets, but all of them still at the expression on their commanders face. He did his best to hide his surprise for their sake. "Are you here to gloat, or negotiate?"

"Neither, I'm afraid, but one can't help but gloat a little as mice scurry at the scent of the cat."

"Then who are you?"

"Occisor, Soldier first class, one hundred and first division. A pleasure."

"Why are you here?"

"I thought my message was clear enough."

"You don't think you can succeed at this."

"Why else would I, if not because I see the odds in my favor? Tsk tsk, Yukio, I thought you a worthy adversary, not a fool."

"Only a fool thinks to play emotions off a Soldier."

"And yet you dance to my tune as surely as a marionette. Please, drop your petty pride and _think_. If my intent was to kill you, I would have crushed your men and your home into splinters and been done with it. I know how weak you are, how meager your hold on your men is. The question is, why would a person give such mercy to his enemy?"

"If he wasn't your true enemy."

Occisor chuckled. "Good. Continue, draw the conclusion out for me."

"You want me to surrender and join you. You want all the Soldiers in Midgar to do the same. You want the power we hold, and to use it."

"I'll give you credit, Yukio, that's close to the heart of it."

"No, I'm right there. People with power always use it, the only thing I can't know is why or where. Not here, certainly, and not for anyone's benefit but your own."

"No."

"Where else, then? No, wait...Junon Harbor. You mean to take the last great metropolis for yourself, burrow in and become independent. With the remaining loyalists and the base in your hand, you'll have the best defensible location in the world at your disposal."

"Well done, Yukio. See what men are capable of when they drop their pretenses? It's so much easier to talk to one another."

"I won't help you."

"And you needn't, frankly. This is a friendly invitation to join me in my cause, to see that we aren't put down as our employers were. Of course, we aren't so mighty as of yet to begin in earnest, but we are strong enough to place little concern with factions such as yours. I'd much rather take them all in, but human nature being what it is, sometimes common sense is displaced for needless waste. Consider your woman the image of those who seek to bar my way."

"One woman out of a dozen others, all better than her."

"Now Yukio, don't force my wrath on your men because of your opinions, we both know I hold the advantage. Your actions tell me you expect an attack from anywhere, anytime. If you really believed yourself capable of fending me off, why hide in the dark? Why not step outside and run us off?" A silent moment. "That's right, you don't expect to win. You cling to your ideals, and who can blame you? For every Soldier of mine you kill, it lessens my impact by that much. Maybe you can kill enough of them to make a difference in the long run. You aren't afraid to die for your dream, and will do whatever you can to bring it to fruition. Truly, a solid dedication wrought by our great program."

"Get to the point." Yukio snapped.

"Hn, very well. Tell your men that they are free to surrender and become prisoners until my campaign is over. A far cry better than dying, is it not? I'll even let one of your men take your injured woman to a hospital with my blessings, as a show of mercy. Yukio, won't _you_ merciful enough to let your men choose for themselves whether or not they want to die for your cause? Perhaps your conscripts don't all share your fondness for martyrdom."

"And if I don't?"

"Do you need me to say it?"

Silence.

"You have five minutes to let the injured woman go, and ten minutes for your men. Use your front door, if you would. I hope we can meet face to face, Yukio, as friends."

"Right." He closed the phone, torn at the sudden dilemma facing him. The thirds were all standing prone now, all of them looking at him with wide eyes. He looked back at them, thinking on their plight and how much work he had put into this plan. All of them were willing to stick by him through whatever it took to survive, yet they all wanted some peace of mind that there was something to find after they could step away from their role as soldiers. But, now there wasn't a chance for that kind of relief. He could dismiss Occisor's demand for their surrender, prepare their defenses with their limited time, and let combat decide their future. But what kind of leader would that make him? He couldn't achieve anything if he let them go, and he couldn't live with himself if he forced them to fight. The debate raged in his heart, all the while his mind counted the seconds that remained to them.

"S-Sir? Was that the enemy?" One of the thirds finally spoke.

Yukio licked his lips nervously. "...Yes."

"What did he say?"

Yukio took a breath and held it in, released it, and shook his head lightly. It was over. "He said he's going to attack if we don't surrender. He...he said he offers us a choice, either to surrender and become his prisoners, or to stay here and fight. If any of you want to surrender...you can go, I won't stop you."

The silence in the room was more profound than any Yukio could recall in all his years, as if the world itself was just as stunned as his men. They looked at one another, made like they would object, but none of them had the strength to say anything in argument. After several seconds, one person stepped around his comrades to speak with Yukio directly. He recognized him as the first Soldier he caught in the streets, the first person he took under his wing to get the plan underway.

"Is this a joke?"

Yukio grimaced. "If only it were."

The third screwed up his face, obviously worried. "Well...fuckin' hell, I'm not giving up shit! I'm staying here."

"I'm being serious. If any of you have regrets about this, don't think you're obligated to stay."

"With all respect, Sir, shut the hell up." Another person said in good humor. Yukio knew the scathing sarcasm of the only other woman in his group. "If we didn't like your plan, we'd never have stayed here in the first place. If a last stand is all we have left, then we stand here."

This time Yukio did chuckle, scolding himself for not having more faith in his soldiers or his judgment. They each were worthy allies in his dream after all. "Alright then, everyone get armed! We stick to the second floor as planned. Move it!"

"Yessir!" They all barked.

Yukio handed the box of materia off to the nearest man, then walked through the group and towards the stairs. He went to the second floor, hurrying to Lari's room. The door was open, and inside he saw Farrah wrapping bandages around Lari's chest by flashlight, several wads of it taped to cuts on her arms and face. She was hunched over on a kitchen chair, eyes staring empty at the floor. Holt was crouched by a window, peeking out of a tiny sliver between the drapes and wall. The three of them looked back at their leader when he stepped inside. They didn't speak, as if reading his thoughts by his expression alone.

"Holt, how is it?"

The man turned to face him, and even in darkness he looked terrified. "They're in the open. Dozens of them, all armed. They even have snipers on the roofs. Fucking _snipers_! We're in deep shit, Yukio, deep shit."

"Calm down." He looked at Lari, wondering if she could even make the walk to the more populated regions of the sector. "Farrah, finish up and get some clothes on her. Your both leaving."

"Leaving?" She looked back, surprised for once. "Why?"

"Don't worry about why, just get her somewhere safe." He reached into his pocket and took out a large fold of gil from his wallet, offering it to her. "Here, take her to a hospital, anywhere away from here."

She took it slowly, eyes on his. "You're staying to fight."

"You're a perceptive woman, Farrah. I can't think of anyone better to trust her to." He looked over at Lari, and she was staring at him in mute silence. Tears were budding in her eyes, from the pain or from his words, he couldn't say. It touched on his emotions fiercely, and he had to grin to stop from choking up. He put a hand against her cheek, gently wiping a tear away as it slid down her face. "I'm sorry. Don't avenge us, no matter how bad it hurts. I started this so we could live. I want at least one of us to have that chance."

"Yukio..." She whispered. She put a hand against his, fingers tensing as she drew away.

"Goodbye, Lari." He straightened and looked at Holt. "Get them to the door and barricade it once they're gone. String up some presents for the firstcomers."

"Of course." He nodded, watching his comrade head towards the door. "...Yukio!"

He stopped with a hand on the doorjamb. "What?"

"It wasn't because she was weak, was it?" He said, rather than asked.

Yukio hesitated a moment, but continued out of the room without answering. He never looked back.

-----

"God, you think she'll make it?" Holt asked.

Farrah nodded, even though doubt laced her thoughts. Lari was still exhausted from her ordeal, and this movement was already breaking healed skin to bleeding again, staining her tee shirt. Her face was tight with pain, but she kept quiet about it as all Soldiers did. She wished she knew how to use materia to try and ease her injuries, but there were none free. It would be wrong to take one anyway, considering what everyone else was about to undergo. "She's strong, Holt, don't worry."

"Farrah..."

She could tell that Holt was worried about them, and that he wanted to go with them and protect them from the enemy. But he couldn't take them any further than their entryway, and he knew it. The man was brash and arrogant, but like anyone else, he was still human underneath all his bluster and hot air. His expression looked wounded, like a pet lost in the rain. She gave him a clap on the shoulder to reassure him. "We'll make it. I promise."

"Right. Right. You'll be fine." He stepped ahead of her and put his hand on the doorknob. "Stay here."

She nodded, and Holt opened the door to the twilight skies of Midgar, braced for whatever would happen. Only silence greeted him, not a voice or a hail of bullets as he feared. He took a step into the open, both hands in sight as he surveyed the street. The rouge Soldiers were standing in the street and all over the opposing buildings, each of them ready to attack in less than a second. When he was satisfied they weren't going to kill him on the spot, he cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted at the darkness and the Soldiers within.

"I'm letting her go, so you guys keep your word!"

"Very well!" A voice responded from the group. "Send them out!"

He looked back. "It's time."

Farrah nodded, tightening her hold on the woman as she stepped outside into the drizzle. Lari was silent, but responsive enough to move with someone to help bear her weight. She restrained herself from looking at Holt, knowing any last words wouldn't help him at the task placed on his shoulders. In slow steps, they took a right and began heading towards the south and sector three, the nearest place where people lived and foot traffic was common. It might take an hour, but there wasn't anywhere else to go. If worse came to worse, Farrah had the foresight to pack extra bandages and a liter of water so Lari could rest and gather her strength. She looked out into the street when she wasn't night blind, and she felt her stomach sank when dark forms became Soldiers prepared for battle. They watched her as she led her charge down the road, all of them silent as ghosts, unmoving. There were nearly two dozen of them on the street alone, but she knew there had to be twice as many hiding, biding their time until their leader gave the order. She tried to ignore the horrible feeling in her gut, but couldn't. She was walking away from her home for the last time.

"Farrah," Lari wheezed, "take me back..."

She shook her head. "That's enough of that. You heard what Yukio said. I plan on keeping my promise." She patted her back lightly. "Come on, girl, we need to pick up the pace."

"But Yukio-"

"Has his job to do, and so do you."

"He _needs_ me."

"He needs you to be safe, or how can he fight his best? Besides, I want to be as far from here as we can when it starts."

"We're going back." She said louder. "When I'm better...we're going back."

Farrah couldn't help but chuckle at her single-minded attitude. "Yeah, we will."

They continued on in silence, taking slow and measured steps on the dirt. Eventually Farrah took them down a side alley to a parallel street, this one paved in cracked concrete, and further on towards the old dividing line between the sectors. A crack sounded from behind them, and just after an explosion that lit up the sky behind them. Both women came to a halt and looked back, seeing the sky illuminated over the place they called home since the crisis. Several other explosions brightened the sky, some of them resonating through the ground and the air. A burst of light that put the others to shame erupted out, and an equally loud shriek of torn wood and fire beat at their ears. When the noise and the light settled, emptiness was all that remained. They stood there for many seconds, waiting for some other sign that the fight continued, but nothing reached them. Lari sobbed once, lifting a hand to her mouth, trying to hold back her emotions. Farrah let her tears fall, but didn't add her voice to the silence. She gave Lari a light tug to let her know it was time, and they both turned for sector three, leaving everything they knew behind.


	9. Nine

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

**: The Past Concluded :**

_Today was a test of my resolve unlike any other. It tried my beliefs, my faith in myself and in my comrades, and in my abilities as a leader and a Soldier. It threw at me everything that a soldier fears, and nothing in my experience could have prepared me for the things I saw and did. The strange thing is that none of those events are what frightened me the worst. The worst was seeing how my actions in the past made everything I am meaningless, how I already betrayed myself long before this trial arrived at my feet. When I sent her away, I broke all my promises as well. Seeing her on my bed, wounded and scared because of what I had done, it unraveled my willpower._

_I don't know what she meant to me, even now. We didn't have much in common, didn't proclaim love to one another, didn't think of ourselves as soul mates or as a couple. We were comrades, even friends. We shared our burdens and our job, shared ourselves in bed for those nights, but nothing more. It couldn't have been enough to call it love. But when she came back, it stirred something in me I hadn't felt before. It might not have been love, but it was more than simple camaraderie, and I know I'll miss her until we meet again._

_-Yukio_

_**---Sector Two**_

Varik frowned at the remains of the building, blinking furiously to get the smoke and drifting dust out of his eyes. There were several reports from people in the neighboring apartments that there was a loud series of explosions nearby, and that later a fire was seen in the deep reaches of the unpopulated blocks. When he and his men dashed over spoiling for a fight, the emergency fire control teams had managed to extinguish the blaze before it touched other homes and brought the risk city-wide. The fire chief said it was just a structure fire, that there were no explosions, nor any sort of battle. Varik took it with a grain of salt, but, after seeing the surrounding streets and a lack of evidence, was forced to agree. His common sense said it was an accident, that someone had let a fire for warmth get out of control, that the 'explosions' were just the sound of the building collapsing into itself. However, his instinct as an officer screamed that there was more here than evidence showed. The rusted iron fence that marked off the grounds of the apartment was torn out of the earth and concrete; some parts of it still smoldered as water touched the glowing red metal. How could a fire in a building get that hot? How could the heat have been sustained in the open without fuel to burn? He looked around and grabbed one of the firemen as they walked by.

"How did this fire get started?" He asked.

"Probably an electrical fault, or someone left a fire too close to flammables. We haven't determined how yet."

"No, look here." He pointed to the fallen fence. "This stuff is still hot. How could a fire get it that hot?"

"It probably was blown out of the building when it collapsed."

"This is the _fence_, you idiot. It wasn't inside, but it's still hot as hell. How could've it got like that?"

"Well, lots of ways..."

"Like?"

"I dunno. Part of the building could have landed near it and kept burning, acting like a forge."

"Shit-for-brains, does it _look_ like there's enough crap here to have done that?! Forget it, get outta here."

The fireman walked off, leaving Varik to fume. If it wasn't connected at all with the structure fire, then something else did it. Something like a firebomb, a makeshift flame thrower, or even materia. A fire materia, like one the killer was reported to have. Was it possible? Could the killer have changed his pattern from murder to arson? Perhaps he chose someone who fought back too hard, forced him to use the materia in excess. If the fight started in front of the building, he could have roasted someone against the fence and turned them to ash with enough strength. No. Varik looked at the ruin through the last of the twilight, struggling to imagine how it would have gone. If it started inside, the fires would have burned anything they touched. The fight could have spilled outside, the victim could have tried to get out of the courtyard, and the killer roasted him alive as he scrambled over the fence or between the bars, cooked him so badly that only ash was left. By the time he arrived, the fire control team washed everything down with water, along with the remains of the body and the killer's trail. Was he standing at the site where the killer took his victims and tortured them? Gods, did he just miss catching the bastard by only minutes?

"Shit. Shit. Shit!" He took out his radio and dialed it over to his precinct. "This is victor charlie alpha, calling in. I need all available units at the sector two fire with equipment for a foot search, five block radius. There's evidence the killer may have started this, over."

'...This is base, message received. ETA ten minutes, over.'

"Roger." Varik snapped the radio back to his belt and looked around at the scene. People were hurrying to and from emergency response vehicles, prodding at rubble with shovels to extinguish hot spots, talking with onlookers to see if anyone needed treatment. He eyes the spectators warily. The killer could be one of those people, looking at him and gloating over his work, mocking him, stalking him. All it would take were a pair of sunglasses to eliminate the most telling feature of a Soldier, and he could walk throughout the city like any other citizen. Was he wrong in thinking that the killer was a lunatic who hid in the streets like a monster? Was the monster among them? Was he here right now?

He gritted his teeth and turned away, ignoring the questions that begged for an answer. He didn't have the patience for that, not even the time. He only wanted to find the killer's trail and continue the chase until it ended, one way or another.

The backup he requested arrived just as the fire control team called the site secure and roped it off for public safety. Varik barked orders as them even as they piled out of the vans, dictating paths and alleys to follow even before he could put them down to maps. He settled into his command bus, seated at the tiny desk that supported the radio across the city, and began coordinating the search himself. As units from other precincts arrived, he gave them their orders and directed their movements without ever meeting them face to face. His writing hand rushed across the map, extending lines and adding symbols as reports came in, his mind absorbed in the expanding realm of the grid and the logistics of command. By the time the first officer reached the border of his search grid, he was reeling with the messages of over fifty men and women. When the last man reported in, Varik looked down at a map covered in lines and notes as complicated as ancient runes and hexes. It was nearly worthless, though. Out of the whole twenty six blocks searched, only two had evidence of a struggle. Investigators were already present, so Varik didn't need to see to them himself, but he did anyway to get the nervous energy out of his legs. The first site was a dead body, decomposed and bloated, but victim to a gunshot and not torture or burns. The second was much more incriminating.

"So..." Varik gestured at the walls of the alley, "someone tell me what the fuck happened here."

Zera stepped forward to explain. "From what I can tell, it looks like a fight. Blood spots indicate that someone bleeding came down here and was attacked." She walked down the alley, motioning to several splotches of blood diluted on the damp concrete. "This wounded person stood here, I think, and held his ground. Blood spatter on the walls leads me to think a knife was used, possibly more than one. The presence of blood on the walls means the person slashed rather than stabbed. The three large patches of blood mean a body hit the wall with a wound against it. This last large pool looks like a fatal wound, but no body was found. Separate blood spatters continue out to the street, but we can't follow them further because of the mud."

"So, this _guy_, you think he escaped his attackers?"

"I can't tell. The droplets at the entrance are small, so his wound may not have been lethal. There had to be at least two others chasing him, so...hell, I dunno. He'd have to be tough as hell to have gotten away."

"Tough like a Soldier?"

Zera nodded. "Maybe."

"Can you tell?"

"Not without a lab analysis, and we haven't had a lab since meteor."

"Well, shit."

"My thoughts exactly," she held up a hand, "and before you ask, no, we don't have equipment on hand to tell much about the blood."

"Take samples anyway."

"Alright."

Varik stuffed his hands into his overcoat, staring at the scene as if some hidden message would reveal itself. One blood trail in, multiple trails out. A struggle in the middle, serious wounds and a possible death the result. Was it the evidence he needed to prove the fire was a battleground, or was this just a separate struggle completely apart of it? Just as he prepared to turn away, something on the ground caught his eye. He looked back, seeing a definite shape there, and knelt to scoop it up. In his hands, covered in wet grime, was a metal chain and a single tag. On one side was a bar code and serial number etched by a laser, and the other was a symbol that sent a tremor up his spine: the Shin-Ra company logo.

"Zera!" He shouted.

The woman looked over her shoulder from her work. "What?"

"Never mind the blood." He danged the dogtag. "It's definitely Soldier."

"So should we...?"

"Pack up." He took out his radio. "All units, this is victor charlie alpha. Reconvene at coordinates X35.2, Y39.5, southeast of the fire. There's evidence of Soldier activity, so we'll start another search grid, five block radius from here. Someone get to the truck and coordinate the radio, over."

Varik pocketed the radio before listening for a reply, grinning morbidly. The hunt was on again.

-----

Lari rested against the wall of the ruined house, legs spread across the tattered carpet and her hair fallen in lank lengths across her shoulders and face. Her injuries were worsening, cuts and lacerations bleeding terribly from the trek, shirt nearly soaked through with blood. Every breath sent pain seething across her body as skin rubbed against cotton. Her legs were weak, hardly able to support her in the hurried effort to get away from the apartment. Ever since she was caught by those Soldiers after Yukio sent her away, pain had been her companion throughout her waking hours. When they sent her back, a pretty lure to her comrades, emotional pain became just as prominent in her mind. Sitting here, resting, it was even stronger than the weakness of blood loss and trauma. She had betrayed her allies, given up their secrets to save herself from the pain, was the reason why the fight started and why they all had to die. Now, even when everyone was dead, her actions led to the death of the last person in her family mockup.

Tears still fell down her cheeks.

Farrah had led her down the streets, heading ever closer to the populated region of the sector, offering empty promises of recovery and revenge all the while. When those three Soldiers appeared, pursuing them into the alley, she didn't lose a moment's stride in leaving her to stand alone while slipping a dagger out to defend her charge. No words were spoke, but Lari knew clearly what Farrah intended. She forced herself to walk away while Farrah fought for her life against those three not but meters away, forced herself to continue without looking back for fear of turning to render aid, however pitiful. As she stumbled down the street, her ears burned with the sounds of the scuffle, her heart near to collapse from the agony of leaving her last and only friend behind to murderers. There was no last hurrah in the end, no final scream of agony. The noise simply ended, and that was when Lari ducked into this shack of a house to wait for them to come and take her away.

The Soldiers never came. Neither did she.

She waited there for some amount of time, trying to reign in her emotions and patch up her wounds. The bandages were ample, but she used them all and still wished for more. The water she drank quickly, using only a splash to clean the dirt from her face and hands. With nothing else to do, she simply sat there and tried to recover her failing strength. Now, however long it had been, she concluded that there was little sense in waiting for the end to come. Slowly, gingerly, she stood up and walked outside for whatever or whomever would come. The night was dark, only just illuminated by the moon above the cover of overcast clouds and meager rain. It was enough to tell that there were people in the street and alley where she came from. Focusing her eyes, she could tell they weren't the Soldiers who pursued her. When recognition struck her, she chuckled to herself.

She didn't expect a police van and an entire company of officers.

They reacted to her appearance almost immediately, and they quickly took cover and raised their weapons to fire. Lari lifted her arms outwards, ignoring the pain the best she could, and opened her mouth to tell them she wasn't going to attack. Wounded as she was, even her pride and her anger weren't enough to overcome the logic that they could kill her in a heartbeat if she didn't give in. Her voice was like a rusted hinge, barely understandable. They waited and shouted for her surrender, not moved by how clearly hurt she was. After nearly a minute of yelling, the policemen approached slowly, never lowering their firearms as they circled her and closed the noose to trap her in place.

"Get on your knees!" One man demanded.

Lari nodded, forced to move slowly so she didn't outright collapse in front of them.

"Hands on your head!"

She did as ordered.

The speaker holstered his gun in favor of handcuffs, and he walked behind her and grabbed an arm and twisted it behind her back. Lari bit her tongue to stop from crying out, but when he yanked her other arm down the pain was too much to hold in. Her cry sounded pathetic, but didn't elict any mercy from the policeman.

"Get up!" The arresting officer pulled her up when she didn't move fast enough, earning another pained moan. "Get up!"

Lari tried to do as they asked, but her strength was literally and figuratively bleeding away by the minute, and she couldn't do much more than whimper as she was marched to a van and thrown inside like so much dead weight. A man and woman stepped inside after her, sitting on the opposing bench that she lay on. The man looked at something in his hand, then down at her like some caged animal. When she met his glare, it only made him frown.

"Soldier," He said evenly, "right?"

"Y-Yes." Lari barely choked the word out.

The man just then seemed to notice the blood on her person. "You look pretty banged up, bitch."

"Varik, I should-" The woman leaned closer, but the man snapped an arm out to stop her. "She's _hurt_."

"I know." He reached into his coat and took out a bracelet, a single orb snapped into it like a prize diamond. "See this? I could heal your injuries with this, make the pain go away. You want that, right?"

"_Yes_." Lari said.

"You answer a few questions and I'll do that, okay?" He leaned closer to her. "Like where the serial killer is."

"W-Who?"

"The serial murderer who's been killing people for the past three weeks. He's Soldier, just like you. Where is he?"

"I don't-"

The man grabbed her arm suddenly and dragged her to an upright position. Lari screamed out in pain, unable to stop herself. His grip tightened, and it made it exponentially worse. He put the bracelet in front of her face, taunting her with it and the relief it meant. "Don't lie to me you little bitch. Your both Soldiers, so you look out for one another, so you know where he's hiding. Now tell me!"

"I don't know-"

He slapped her backhanded, knocking her back down across the metal bench. He stood in the confines of the van and dragged her back up, squeezing her arms tightly while putting his face right against hers. "Where the fuck is he?!"

"Varik, don't-"

He looked back only long enough to glare at the woman. "Shut up, Zera!" His attention returned to Lari. "Answer me, dammit!"

"I-"

He pounded her against the wall of the van, her head bouncing off the metal. "Where is he?!"

When she didn't reply, he rammed her against the wall of the van over and over, each time spitting out the question like a mantra. For nearly a minute he shook her and screamed, face red and neck taught. Suddenly he let her go and instead wrapped his hands around her neck, constricting her throat until it was almost impossible to take a breath. Lari tried to fight him off, but her arms could only paw at him like a child. He squeezed harder for a moment, eyes burning with the proof that he wasn't bluffing with his threat. He held her there until she met his eyes.

"Where. Is. He?" The man asked for the last time.

"_They're coming_!" Lari had to scream to get the words past her mouth.

The man let off only slightly. "Who is?"

"The rouge Soldiers."

"Who the fuck are the rouge Soldiers?"

"They're gonna...take over Midgar. Gonna take...all the Soldiers...and attack Junon. Gonna kill...anyone who resists..."

The man hesitated in his anger, thinking. "Did you come from the building that burned down?"

"Yes."

"Did these rouge Soldiers burn it down? Why did they do it?"

"They killed...my comrades...because we wouldn't join them."

"So there were two groups of Soldiers there?"

"Yes."

"And you ran away when the other group attacked yours?"

"Didn't run...was...sent away."

"Why?"

"Because Yukio...wanted me to live."

"Was he your leader?"

"Yes."

"Did he die?"

"...Yes."

"Did any others make it out?"

"No. Don't know."

The man finally released her and sat back down. Lari gasped for air, wheezing violently. Spots danced in her eyes. He looked at the woman and talked to her, but her reply got him shouting and gesticulating wildly. She could barely hear anything they said, as if someone had plugged her ears with cotton. After a long minute, the woman stormed out of the van. The man took a radio from his belt and spoke into it, then stood and grabbed her by the arm and dragged her outside. He threw her down to the concrete street and stood there as she curled in pain, watching her shake like some twisted voyeur. He spoke to her, she knew because his mouth moved, but couldn't hear a word of it. He smiled, clearly amused with something, then turned away and left her there to suffer. She looked out and saw the other officers all leaving the place, the van going into gear and driving off. In less than a minute, they abandoned her completely. Lari screamed, then, and broke down completely. She lay there, alone in the night, and cried until exhaustion won her over and she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

-----

"Why the fuck did you leave her there?!" Zera demanded of her superior as they left the scene for the precinct.

"Because she's Soldier and worth shit." He replied nonchalantly.

"But she's still human!"

"Not to me she isn't."

"You bastard..."

"Zera, don't go there." Varik warned. "No one is to go back there to help her. No one. Let her comrades save her if they care."

Zera had to hold back tears at his inhuman cruelty. "You're a bastard, Varik. A real fucking bastard."

"Yes I am." He pounded his hand on the van wall. "How much farther?"

"Three blocks, sir." The driver replied.

"Good." He looked at Zera, noting how she was restraining herself from becoming too emotional. "Why do you feel sympathy for a monster like that?"

"She wasn't a monster!"

"No, just a bloodthirsty Soldier who's probably killed more innocents than our serial killer. Funny, they sound the same, though."

"You can't know that!"

"No, but I can make a pretty good guess."

"God _damn_ you, Varik, you're just as bad as the killer!"

"No I'm not. I don't kill innocent people, only shitheels who deserve it."

"And who made you judge, jury, and executioner?"

He grinned. "I did."

Zera looked away from him, holding herself together the best she could. Varik rolled his eyes, wondering why she kept to the force if little things like this were enough to get her upset. What upset him was that the Soldier didn't know anything about the killer, and instead dumped an entirely different problems onto his lap. The fire was intentional, and it was because of a battle between two groups of Soldiers. It didn't bode well at all for the stability of the city. If these Soldiers were banding together and fighting one another, it would only be a matter of time until these firefights became a public hazard. He didn't entertain at all the thought that they could take over Midgar and Junon Harbor, but the idea lingered. They were strong, and together they were the strongest military force the world had ever seen. A whole nation trained for war couldn't outmatch them. Midgar on it's own...

_**---Pretty Birdy Bar and Grill**_

The Pretty Birdy was as crowded and boisterous as it was the first time that Reeve was there. He was thankful for the positive energy that the patrons and the environment exuded. After a full day of reviewing notes and reports at the sector police headquarters, he craved anything that would take his mind off the horrors of the serial killings. Reno, not needing an excuse to start an evening of drinking, offered to take him and the others out to the restaurant on him, flashing a thick wad of gil to prove his worth. He accepted, of course, as did Elena and Rude, but Atma declined and left for home once they came to a suitable end in their investigation. He ordered two bottles of expensive Gongagan whiskey to start, and had been serving them up round after round with intent to initiate Reeve into their drinking circle. By the time they had gotten around to ordering appetizers, each of them were well on their way to inebriation.

"Another round!" Reno said cheerily, interrupting himself from his train of though storytelling.

"We just had one five minutes ago," Reeve argued weakly, "can't you wait?"

"Nope. Besides, you're gonna get sloshed before the night's done if you wanna be part of our little group. A good leader's gotta be sociable with his teammates, right?"

Reeve shrugged after a second. "I suppose."

"No supposin', Reeve! It's a rule!"

"...Alright, another round. Why not?"

"That's the idea! No sense in only getting halfway tipsy, better to go all the way!" He poured them all two fingers of drink apiece, then lifted his glass. "A toast! Yo Rude, your turn."

"To friends," Rude said carefully after a second's consideration, "and sanity, so we never forget how normal people live."

"To friends!" They repeated, tossing the shot back.

"So how you feelin', Reeve?"

"Alright. A little drunk, but alright." Reeve reached out and took a drink of water, expecting to be scolded again for being weak. Reno didn't call him on it.

"So, that's a what? Five out of ten? Six?"

"Yeah, six is about right. Why?"

"Gotta see how much liquor you can hold. _Duh_. 'Lena and Rude both can't match me shot for shot, so I wanna know how far you'll make it."

"I don't think I can take much more, Reno."

"We'll see. Oh, waiter!" Reno leaned out as one passed by, getting her attention. "You still got any coconut rum?"

"I think so, sir."

"Bring a bottle 'round, then." He took out a fifty bill and slid it into her skirt pocket and grinned. "Here's something for your trouble."

"Why rum?" Elena asked.

"'Cause we're almost out of whiskey, girlie, and I don't wanna end up dry so soon."

"No, I mean why _rum_? Why not this stuff?"

"Hell, you know why. Gotta expand your horizons 'n all. Besides, I'm in the mood for somethin' with some taste."

"Oh."

"Jeez, girlie, you must be sloshed already."

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are."

"I'm fine, Reno." She insisted, taking up the bottle of whiskey. "Let's have another round."

"_Another_?" Reeve said exasperated.

"Yes, another. I swear, that one of these days I'm gonna find a way t' get him smashed for once instead of the other way around."

"Izzat a challenge I hear, girlie?"

"Maybe." Elena hesitated a moment, and her lips curled to a racy grin. "Yeah. Yeah, why not?"

Reno looked almost pained from how wide he smiled and laughed. "A contest! Hot damn, girlie, it's been a long ass time since someone's tried 'ta put me under!"

"Then let's get started, eh? Rude, you wanna try?" He waved a hand at the offered bottle. Elena didn't miss a beat in offering it to Reeve. "How 'bout you, Reeve?"

"Oh no, I couldn't..."

"Yeah you could." She teased.

"No. No thanks. I mean, I'm already at my limit. Besides, aren't we gonna order something to eat?"

Both Reno and Elena looked at him with wide eyes, surprised. Reeve felt sweat bead on his forehead, wondering if he'd either done something wrong or if they forgot about the evening meal as well. The redhead took the bottle from Elena's hand and poured three fingers into Reeve's shotglass and scooted it towards him. "Drink."

"I've already had-"

"Drink!" Reno repeated jovially. "It's all the nutrition you'll get tonight!"

"Erm..." He shrugged and took the shot in two gulps, wincing as it added to the burn in his gut.

Reno grinned, then returned to the business of his contest with Elena. "Now, here's mine, and here's yours, and let's drink to health and good looks!"

"To health!"

The two turks both slugged their round in one motion, and after Reno continued on with his nonsense rambling about past missions and adventures. When the waitress returned with the promised bottle of rum, he paid her again with a fifty bill and opened that bottle for his use against Elena. Once their appetizers arrived, the rest of the evening was spent eating slowly while talking and pausing as the two would take a minute to pschye themselves up for their shots. The crowd in the eatery dwindled as the night wore on, eventually down to the barflys and the hustle of the barhops to clean the floor. Soon the bar emptied out, and only they remained inside as the place closed down for the night. The manager himself, a reedy man with liver spots and a domineering voice, came and wished them a good evening as they made their way out. Reno and Elena were both falling down drunk, having matched themselves shot for shot until the whiskey and rum were gone and neither had the sense to order more. Reeve was glad that they didn't, it was hard work to help Elena stay on her feet as they walked to their apartment.

"I still say I won." Reno said again, taking each step carefully without help.

"It was a _tie_." Elena corrected again.

"You both win." Reeve commented again. "God, I've never seen two people drink that much."

"S'pretty much normal, I think. Eh, Rude?"

"Nearly." The stoic man replied from his side. "You both had more than usual."

"Tch, 'cause you didn't 'ave nearly enough!" Reno chided his comrade. "Had t' make up the difference..."

"It would have been tough for Reeve to carry all of us home."

"He coulda...oh, no, no he couldn't've. No taxis. Sorry, guy."

"That's alright."

Reno patted Rude's shoulder lightly. "Next time you'll drink, kay? Next time..."

"Next time."

"Yo 'Lena! How you doin'?"

Elena barely turned her head to look at Reno, concentrating more on moving a foot at a time with an arm slumped over Reeve's shoulder. "Fine."

"What 'bout you, Reeve?"

He nodded. "I'm fine."

"Feelin' good?"

"Yeah."

"Good."


	10. Ten

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

**: The Past Concluded :**

_This city has lost it's memory. Each day I see less and less of the familiar, and in their place, unknowns. It's concerning to me, seeing so many variables in a place I considered concrete and unchangeable. I struggle to find a pattern to this change, but it's as unpredictable as chaos; even human nature is more regular than this. Instead I am forced to adapt, forced to inadequate myself to remain abreast of change. We all are letting ourselves become inadequate to keep pace, and it has affected our ability to function. A serial killer is easy prey to track, yet he remains at large. Instead of acting, we bicker and complain._

_It has to stop. It must, or else we risk greater harm than the loss of life._

_-Atma_

_**---Delikatessen**_

The eatery was slower than usual due to the actual rain after days of preceding overcast sky, but Reeve and the Turks still took their corner booth and talked in lowered voices about the killer and their plans and hopes. This time the silence was punctuated by the outrageous hangovers that Reno and Elena sported, neither of them feeling well even with a hair of the dog before leaving the apartment. They ate well, however, to make up for empty stomachs that rumbled after nothing but alcohol the night before.

"If I had some fuckin' sicktime, man..." Reno muttered.

"God, quit whining." Elena spat at him angrily. "That's all you've done since you got up."

"Well forgive me, blondie, but this headache is killing me."

"So is mine, but you don't hear me complaining."

"Quiet, you two." Reeve ordered. He shook his head in agitation. "You argue worse than brother and sister. Why do you always nitpick each other? You've known each other for a while, so...why keep it up?"

"She needs to quit bein' a bitch about my habits."

"He needs his ego deflated."

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Oh God..."

"Look, it's nothin' personal, most of the time. She's always complaining, I'm never serious, and Rude keeps to himself mostly. It's just how we are."

"But friends don't argue this much!"

"We do."

"B-But-"

Reno leaned forward, resting an elbow on the tabletop. "Reeve, have you ever seen me or 'Lena ever really pissed at each other? No, no you haven't. It's 'cause we know when to shut up and let it die. Sure we fight, but it's all in good humor. Ain't that right, girlie?"

"Good humor?" Elena eyed him sharply. "Aggravating is more like it."

Reno glanced at her and smiled. "See?"

He nodded slightly, but looked at Rude for confirmation. The Turk nodded, exhaling a lungful of smoke from his cigarette. "All relationships are based on mutual emotions, both good and bad. There's is more...prone to extremes."

"Yeah," Reno agreed quickly, "that's what I meant."

"Uh-huh." He thought about how a relationship could ever stay intact if they swung so much between happiness and violence. He had never argued with a friend so much or so often, and never thought that any friend would ever do such a thing to the other. But, he knew that there were many unhealthy relationships in the world, people who stayed together even when mutual hatred was their only common bond. Was their's the same? Did they only really stay with one another out of loyalty because of their time together as Turks? No. He glanced at them as they resumed eating, thinking. Was their friendship, their relationship, only bound because of reverence for the past? Could it? Could their only real bonds be that they worked together and wanted to keep those memories alive regardless of how their friendship soured?

"It's 'cause we're Turks." Reno said between a mouthful of eggs, seemingly reading Reeve's thoughts. He swallowed them and took a drink of coffee. "That's another thing I meant to say. Once you're a Turk, they're your family. You gotta trust them with your life every day, so...hell, that explains it all, really. You don't just trust someone 'less you're close to them. We bicker because family's bicker, and that's what we are. Family." He looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. "Damn, that was _way_ too sappy."

"So you think we're a family?" Elena inquired quietly.

"What would _you_ call it, then?"

She blushed lightly. "Um...well..."

He laughed at her expression. "Don't get all flustered, 'Lena, I didn't really expect an answer."

"Alright..."

"I just mean that we'd have to be family to put up with this much shit."

"Well, if you didn't start it-"

"Like hell I always start it!"

"Quit it already!" Reeve implored, glancing at his watch. "I wonder where Atma is. She's never this late."

"Soldier girl must be at the precinct already." Reno speculated.

"I don't know. Normally she would call me if she was there."

"Maybe she's busy with some lead. If you're worried, let's head on over."

"I suppose..."

"Speakin' of, yo Rude, why didn't that guy come back with you?"

"He was not willing to part with his wife, nor did he want to bring her here. They both have forsworn killing, even for the greater good. I couldn't convince him otherwise."

"And no one else wanted to come?"

"I could not find anyone else." He curled his lips in annoyance. "I explained all this last night, you know."

"Yeah, well, funny how the drink can make you forget little details like that."

Rude shook his head lightly, snubbing his smoke out. Reno shrugged apologetically. "So let's get going already."

-----

The interior of the police precinct was abuzz in activity, uniformed officers hastily chatting to one another and rushing through aisles and offices. The four of them hesitated by the entrance in surprise, wondering what got them into such a frenzy. The front desk secretary was tersely talking to someone on a phone, free hand scratching out notes on a thick rolodex. The noise and action felt like a living thing in the building.

"Something's up." Reno commented idly.

Reeve nodded in agreement, continuing inside with his eyes peeled for Varik. The police chief was in the middle of the floor as usual, but coordinating information and papers on a _second_ corkboard to the left of the first, a map of sectors two and three center stage with circles and colored pins marring the surface. Folders and whole separated binders were piled on the central table, open with their records torn out and organized in chaos theory randomness. Varik himself was no longer dressed in his business casual shirt and slacks, but bundled in body armor and combat attire suitable for military use. The chief didn't even acknowledge their presence until he turned back to get more documents. He jumped, hesitated a moment, then took a deep breath and exhaled loudly.

"Son of a bitch, Reeve."

"Sorry."

"Forget it." He turned away and began adding notes to the board.

"Where's Atma?"

"She isn't here. Why, she's not with you?" He glanced back to see for himself, shrugged, and placed another pin on a minor intersection of streets. "Haven't seen her since yesterday."

"She didn't call in?"

"I just said as much."

Reeve felt his pulse quicken in concern, wondering why the Soldier hadn't contacted them at all today. It was very unlike her to just disappear without leaving her whereabouts. He took out his phone and dialed her number, but there was no response and no voicemail center to leave a message in. He hung up and tried again, still getting nothing. He closed the phone and put it back into his coat pocket, trying to keep the little fears from rising about what could have happened to her.

"Since you're here, Reeve, we gotta talk." Varik stepped away from the board, planting a finger on the map. "It turns out we've got a _bigger_ problem than the serial killer and sector three."

"Bigger?" He parroted.

The chief began sorting through the table contents. "Yeah. We got some intel that there's been in-fighting between Soldiers out there, and that they're starting to form their own little warbands and waging wars." He snatched out a clipped report and offered it to them. "We've been keeping track of where we find dead bodies, and the numbers speak for themselves. A lot of those bodies are Soldier, and they're being found in smaller and smaller areas and in greater numbers. It never dawned on us that it's all connected."

"You couldn't tell a war's goin' on?" Reno arched an eyebrow. "_Jeez_."

Varik glared at the Turk. "Most of these deaths are trauma to the head by hand or blunt object. We thought it was just over food or money, but it's also similar to one on one fights, like these bastards just kill themselves for sport. There's also been an increase in deaths by firearms and blades, like daggers or swords. The fire last night was caused by two groups who fought one another. I made the call that these fights are getting out of hand, and that the public's in real danger."

"Another brilliant conclusion."

"And you knew it all along, huh?"

"Damn straight I did." Reno leaned against the table, hands in pocket. "I mean...come _on_, you honestly thought these guys would just get along with each other out there? Those guys were put into Soldier because they _like_ fighting. Given freedom and free reign to do whatever the hell they want, I guarantee five out of ten of 'em would go nuts and do whatever they feel like, like kill and pillage and rape and so on. You'd have to be a fuckin' idiot to believe otherwise. It just took 'em this long to figure it out for themselves that they can get away with it."

"Well, if you're so informed, what would you do?"

"Either outnumber them five to one or kiss my ass goodbye when they _really_ start rampaging."

"Really start?"

"_Yeah_. These guys didn't beat a whole fuckin' army because they're restrained. As soon as they get organized, we're gonna have a literal war on our hands."

Varik looked to Reeve for some sign that this was all hyperbole. "Is he being serious, Reeve?"

"They are the leading military force in the world, Shin-Ra or not." He replied.

"I agree with his analogy," Rude spoke, "that they are a severe threat. Despite his description, they are intelligent and _will_ rediscover their strength in numbers given time. What intelligence did you receive that tipped you off to this threat?"

"We found a Soldier that survived the fire last night. She was babbling on about them banding together to take over Midgar and Junon Harbor. I think-"

"Are those her exact words?!" Rude demanded suddenly.

"Wha? Yeah, but-"

"What's up, dude?" Reno asked his partner.

Rude held up a hand, thinking. "Shin-Ra's military presence is still intact in Junon, as is Shinra loyalty. If there has been contact between the Soldier forces there and here, it might mean there is a coordinated threat facing us rather than from random groups."

Both Reno and Elena looked worried at his theory. He continued, slowly, putting thoughts to words. "Social and economic standards haven't changed in response to Shin-Ra's collapse. This means that if someone were to settle in the position that Shin-Ra took, there would be little resistance. With intact communication to the rest of the world, they could continue in Shin-Ra's steed with little lost influence. Here we have lost a majority of Shin-Ra influence, so a military coup would be the only feasible solution." Rude hesitated, blinked several times behind his sunglasses, and actually had to lean on the table. "It's entirely possible that the remaining officers of Shin-Ra's military may already instated a dictatorship before the power vacuum collapsed and the public could revolt against them. If this is so, we might only be 'free' because of our lack of instant communication to the world outside, severely hampering any coordinated efforts to install a new military government."

"Hold on, hold on. You're telling me that the military might be in control of the rest of the world like Shinra was?" Varik asked incredulously.

"It's possible, not a certainty. Life in Junon appears the same as it was three months ago. How else would this be unless the public still lived under the same conditions as it did then, when Shin-Ra was in power?"

Reno spoke up harshly. "For one thing, their city didn't get hit by a fucking _meteor_. Maybe they got a new government running because they weren't struggling to live day by day. Maybe all we're looking at are a bunch of Soldiers using their heads and acting like they were trained to."

"That's also likely."

"More likely than your idea." Reno snorted. "Jeez, Rude, give us all a scare, why don't you?"

"I agree." Reeve said finally. "We could debate this all day long and not get anywhere. Right now we need to solve what's in front of us, and that's the danger of these Soldiers acting together to get what they want. Considering the trouble we've gone through regarding the serial killer, it would be near impossible to fight off an army of men and women just as dangerous as him."

"Which brings me to my point." Varik stated. He waited a moment to ensure he had their attention, then continued. "It's time. We've narrowed down the killer's hiding place to seven blocks in this part of the sector." He motioned to a segment of sector three, a place between the ruins of the Shinra Tower and the restored neighborhoods. "It's solitary, clear of eyes and ears, and generally abandoned to rot. It's the perfect hiding place for a psycho killer. Right now we're gathering all the officers we can spare, deputizing men for saturation effect, and getting firepower from anyone willing to part with their arms. We are going into that sector en masse, and we are _not_ leaving until this serial killer is brought down like the animal he is."

_**---Somewhere in Sector Three**_

Atma lay motionless on the ledge of the building, watching with aquiline eyes the alley where the person had walked down. The rain provided her all the cover she needed, even if it also meant that she couldn't depend on sound for tracking her suspect. The person she had targeted was carrying a naked body over one shoulder, walking with the patience and authority of someone either permitted this task or so used to it that he feared no reprisal. He had stopped in that alley and looked down either way, then continued across and disappeared from view. It had been nearly twenty minutes since then, and she expected his return soon; if anything could be gleaned from the reports and notes the police compiled, it was that this killer operated in a pattern suited to predators, and was likely to take familiar routes to and from his residence and territory. She mentally cataloged her weaponry: stilettos at either ankle, a dagger at the waistline and a chisakatana over one shoulder. Two pistols in holsters beneath each arm, and one of the semiautomatic rifles from her collection on a shoulder strap, plus a second belt of ammunition across her chest. She had no materia, a few lengths of medical tape and bandages for lacerations and other hurts. It was a meager defense, but a calculated balance between offensive power and speed for a pursuit. She anticipated a chase through these streets before the fight itself.

It was ten minutes more before this same person came walking back down the alley without the body. Atma willed herself to remain still as he approached the intersection between street and building gap, only her hand tightening around the grip of the rifle. He looked down either way, then looked up and held his gaze, seemingly staring right at her despite the downfall of rain. The seconds wore on as he and she continued to look at one another, waiting for some sign of recognition. Just as Atma was deciding to take the initiative, the man smiled wide.

"You must be a predator." He called out to her.

She swung the rifle forward and got her elbows beneath her torso, lining up the shot in less than a second before squeezing off a round. The killer ducked to his left and crouched, fouling her aim and sending the bullet into the mud behind the killer. He sprung away from the spot, heading down the street and towards more alleys and escape routes. Atma didn't waste the time to prepare another round, knowing she didn't have the time to waste sniping him, and instead launched herself off the rooftop and into open air. She curled and rolled when she hit the ground fifteen feet below, rolling once before getting to her feet with the rifle shouldered and already aimed in his direction. She fired the gun at his center of mass, once twice and thrice, each round hitting and forcing a stumble in his orderly retreat. Taking a moment to judge his reactions to the injuries, it was clear he wasn't wounded severely and could continue on as normal. Atma discarded the weapon and gave chase, hands throwing away the spare magazines she brought for the weapon to lighten her pack. She took her twenty two caliber pistol from it's holster and chambered the first round, then pumped her arms to try and narrow the gap between them.

The killer chose an alley and ducked down it, Atma following at a wide turn so he couldn't get within her firing arc. She saw him fidgeting with something at his wrist, and she skidded to a brisk walk and began firing her gun to delay him from using the materia orb she was certain he just slotted. Even as he lifted a hand and cast the spell, a brightening of his aura around his temples a giveaway, she continued pulling the trigger. Flames, intense despite the rain, roared out like an explosion all around her. Her clothes smoldered and her skin reddened and blistered where exposed, but her pacing brought her out of the fire and out of immediate danger two seconds later. The killer hesitated a moment, legs torn between holding ground or to flee, and Atma used that mistake to adjust her aim for his head and fire the last three round of the clip. The killer recoiled back appropriately, hands halfway to covering him before training caught on and kept them free to act. She ejected the clip and homed in another, then holstered the firearm and drew out her chisakatana and charged.

She struck from her hip, the blade flashing up and connecting with the killer's forearm, missing his fingers but hitting muscle and bone. Blood gushed from the injury, spattering on the dirt and on clothing. Blade on high, she adjusted her hold and prepared to deliver a downward stroke to the torso, but his hand grabbed at her wrist and yanked down fiercely, incapacitating her arm. The killer reared forward and headbutted her, foreheads meeting and an audible thump resonating in their space. He then twisted her arm down and forced the sword out of her hand, the other arm making an ineffective chop to her throat, weak due to his limp hand. It was enough to distract her, and he took advantage of this to use his functional arm in a palm heel strike across her jawline. She stumbled back, disoriented, and the killer quickly focused on his materia and looked at his ruined arm, willing the spirit to mend the damage and make it whole. The spell rose from his body and caressed his skin as it gathered at the limb, knitting cells together and connecting previously broken muscles. By the time it was done, the hand tingled but was movable, and she was also recovered and reaching for a gun on her body.

Atma fired the pistol rapidly, each round striking the killer's torso and shoulders as he charged at her. When he saw he was putting all his weight into the motion, that the caliber of the bullets were ineffective in harming him, she ducked and lowered her head, ramming her shoulder into his groin. She then stood as quick as she could move, threating her head between his legs and completing the throw. The killer landed harshly on his face, but forced his legs up and onwards, letting gravity twist his body so he landed on his back with his arms and eyes aimed at her now exposed backside. He grabbed both her legs and yanked hard, sprawling her to the muddy earth as well. He let go of one leg and rolled over, forcing her legs to cross in time for him to pin them down with his weight. Her hand flashed out from beneath her body, and he lunged forward to avoid being shot again by the brandished weapon. Releasing her, he instead landed on top of her and used his legs and arms to pin her to the ground in a stalemate hold, his greater weight the only force acting on her. She squirmed in his hold, unable to find an opening to continue her attack. He moved his head to lay next to hers and spoke.

"You are _exquisite_, comrade." He cooed.

Silence.

The killer leaned closer and took her ear in his teeth, nibbling on the skin. He hummed in satisfaction, not unlike a purring cat. "Do you want to die?"

More silence.

He released the lobe and lay there, thinking. Her efforts to escape continued, legs jumping around in contest with his own, her arms twisting to get free and turn on him. He could disable her easily enough, but didn't. The one eye facing him kept it's gaze locked on his face, unwavering and unafraid. She was just like him when sociable rigors were put aside, a predator willing to go any length for the kill. This was what he wanted, had been looking for since he walked away from the barracks, a _challenge_. Predictable, he mused, that it would come from someone in the same project as himself. If anyone could appreciate the means and methods of his desire, it would be a fellow Soldier. Would she understand? Would she _survive_ to understand? There was only one way to tell.

He released her arms.

Immediately she twisted her arm back and fired the pistol that hadn't fallen from her grip. The bullet grazed his skull, and the later rounds ruffled his hair in passing. She quickly changed strategy and put her hands beneath her, and then pushed up and kicked out with her legs on the ground. She slid out from underneath him and rolled forward, free hand snatching up her chisakatana, body twisting in a circle to add momentum to a hasty horizontal slash to buy time. She secured the pistol and again took the sword in both hands and went on the offensive. The killer ducked around one downward stroke, and he jumped aside at the returning upward. He tried to force himself into her defense, but she restrained her arms and was able to ward him off with the lethal edge of the weapon. She backed away and held herself in a defensive pose, glaring beneath sopping wet strands of silver white hair. The killer saw his advantage and took it. He snapped his hand up and cast a quick fire spell, concentrated at her face and shoulders. The flames were brief and no more damaging than a blast of hot air, but it was enough to blind her a moment to his position, and he charged forward to attack. He grabbed her wrist and twisted, sword clattering away again, and this time he leaned back and spun, throwing her out of the alley proper and into the street. He grabbed up the fallen weapon and brandished it with impaling intent, closing the gap.

She drew her reserve pistol, a heavy caliber revolver, and held it in both hands and braced herself in the slick the best she could. She fired it at the joining spot between neck and upper torso, seeing blood blossom from the wound, noting his hesitation. She fired the remaining five bullets at him, each round compounding the damage as he forced himself to keep his hands away from that crippling assault. Empty, she holstered the gun in exchange for her dagger and charged at him. He tried to slash at her, but for once fate granted her a boon at his clear inexperience with the weapon, and she was able to twist away from the downward attack. Her hand darted out and stabbed into his meaty chest, stopping at the ribs and doing only flesh damage. She danced back at his second attempt, this time able to draw a ragged cut across his bicep that bled little, a sign it wasn't very deep. As he raised his arm for another attack, she leaned in and drove her dagger to the hilt just beneath the sternum, seeing an immediate issuing of blood stain his rain soaked shirt. The killer dropped the sword and his hands clamped onto her shoulders like vices. His head lurched down and again butted against hers, but with such ferocity that it sent stars through her vision and made her suddenly nauseous. He reared back and repeated the attack, over and over until her disorientation became absolute and her legs fell out, conscious thought fleeing away to obscurity. He let her go, and she fell into the mud with a splash, remaining still.

The killer left the dagger in place and instead prepared a healing spell of the highest order, knowing he had little time before he would pass out. With careful timing, he drew out the weapon and cast it, hoping the blood loss would be minimal. The green light from the orb shone so bright it was like a personal sun, and the following effects were almost beyond human comprehension. His cuts and wounds sealed themselves, all the bullets that lodged themselves into flesh and bone migrated to the surface and fell out like water droplets from a leaking cup, and the clotted blood beneath his skin faded away before they could form bruises. The killer felt his wounds as mere afterthoughts, but the exhaustion from the spell replaced the pain and crippled him just as effectively. He knelt so he wouldn't fall, leaning on his hands and gasping for air. For several minutes he kept still, catching his breath and letting his body recover from the strain of the fight. The woman lay like a doll despite the rain, eyes open but looking at nothing. He watched her breathe, and emotions of all sorts drifted through his mind. She was a worthy opponent, a compact and nightmarish warrior, a tender looking thing wanting for pity, an atypical woman. A _beautiful_ atypical woman, he noted.

"_She's perfect_." He muttered absently.

He crawled to her side and patted her down, removing knives and firearms and adding them to his own pockets and belt loops. He slid a hand down her shirt and felt for the chain, found it between the warmth of her breasts, and took it out to see who she was. The barcode was familiar: a home unit, and second class ranking. He smiled. She was more than a match for any first class out there, probably even some of his own brethren, and yet she was numberless. Perhaps she was chosen for her excellence, but could not withstand the augmentation, and was relegated to a minor role instead of branded a failure. It didn't matter, though, not when this fight proved her worth. He dropped the tag and wiped his lank hair from his eyes, then slid his arms beneath her and lifted her into a fireman's carry, beginning the walk back to his shelter. His smile widened until his teeth showed. This one would _definitely_ make it.


	11. Eleven

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

**: The Past Concluded :**

_This mission has been difficult; It always has been, always will be, and will only get easier once the hard work is done. There are so few predators here among the prey, the balance so skewered that it makes us insignificant. But there must be people out there who are capable of becoming predators, shackled by society's laws and their own mindless obedience, only needing a push in the right direction to start walking the correct path. I won't submit that only we are worthy. There must be potential out there, potential to be harvested just as we were those years ago. I will not rest until I have sorted them out, even if everyone else opposes me, even if my own brothers and sisters oppose me._

_I have my mission, and I will follow it until the end._

_-Soldier M1-147099J_

_**---Somewhere in Sector Three**_

The vans pulled into the abandoned intersection without care for stealth or speed, circling slowly so that each street had a vehicle blocking it for both cover and obstacle to whomever approached. The doors in the vans opened and unleashed a horde of officers in combat gear, men and women flooding outwards to assume a defensive ring for the following arrivals. A larger truck appeared a scant minute later and stopped in the middle, the rooftop covered in antennas and other electronic equipment. The back doors opened, but none of the occupants left their seats at the communications chairs except one man. This man gesticulated wildly as he barked orders, directing his command around to better protect their flanks and to provide a wider range of view down the lonely avenues and empty homes. The buildings around them had only one floor, ensuring no one could take higher ground to attack or even observe them without risk, but he still posted men up there to provide eyes for the rooftops farther out. Higher apartments or businesses were everywhere, but the trade off for security to long-range exposure was considered and accepted. The officers didn't expect to defend their mobile headquarters from an organized attack, but they all agreed not to take that chance considering their opponents training and talents. The rain meant that the odds were against them if the enemy chose to attack.

Ten minutes after the site was declared secure, vans and trucks from other precincts arrived and expelled more officers and equipment, including tents and portable shelters, medical staff and an ambulance that could handle most minor injuries, and even a salvaged barbecue-on-wheels bus to provide cooked meals rather than rations. As men and women arrived, the police vans and officers advanced down the streets, expanding their territory to make room for everyone inside their protective cover. Within the hour, the intersection and two hundred feet of each avenue belonged in the care of the sector police, one hundred and thirty officers and twenty five non-combat personnel strong. Radio chatter was fierce, being channeled through the communication truck to three precincts for timely response time, plus a secure line to city hall and the mayor himself, the one responsible for the whole operation. At oh nine hundred hours, Varik requested his sergeants and other lieutenants to the communication truck so he could make a statement. He lifted his head up, exposing his face to the rain from beneath a boonie hat, and looked at his men, each of them sharing the same bitter and determined expression. Even the Turks and Reeve at the rear looked ready for this.

"Alright! I've had it to _here_ with these Soldier bastards thinking they can run this fucking show! If they think they can kill innocent lives without consequence, then they'd better fucking think twice! We're gonna carry it to them and give back ten times what they dish out!" He lifted a hand to cut their chatter and get their eyes. "However, we have a target to get before we can really start! We all know about this serial killer, and he knows about us! We're gonna scour this fucking sector brick by brick, flush him out, and crucify the bastard so there's no mistake! We will not tolerate this shit any longer! It's time they hear the message loud and clear! _Surrender or die_!"

The officers present applauded and cheered, roused by the poignant words. Varik glowed with pride and energy.

"Alright! It's time! Let Operation Housecall begin!! Go go go!!"

The officers all darted away to their commands, shouting orders to their subordinates to rally and proceed to their designated zones. Varik wanted desperately to go out with them, to take on the same risks and gains that they silently carried, but he had to remain here to coordinate their efforts; at times like these he regretted accepting the command of the sector police and the complimentary desk job. He turned back to the communication truck and stepped inside, shaking his coat and hat out. He assumed leadership of the board, donned a headset and mike, and faced an expanded map of the blocks they were searching, waiting for the first reports to come in. The next hours were going to be the longest he had ever lived.

-----

"Well, this is fine weather." Reno groused. "Couldn't wait for a sunny day, huh? Had to make his fuckin' speech in the middle of a god-damn rainstorm."

"Shut up, Reno."

"Polly wanna cracker, girlie?"

"Hey-!"

"-Is for horses, 'Lena, so be quiet. I'm sick to death with your bitching, so give it a rest, huh?"

"As soon as you quit complaining all the time." She retorted immediately.

Reno opened his mouth to spit back another insult, but he hesitated. He clamped his jaw shut and turned away, hands in pocket and eyes off in the distance. Elena shook her head and sighed, running fingers through her wet bangs to get them out of her face. Watching them passively, Rude flicked at his cigarette and took another pull, hoping the two of them would remember their profession and act like Turks when it came down to the moment. Reeve stood silent with his arms crossed, Cait Sith standing next to him without a care for the rain that matted it's fur. He among them all was the most worried, wondering if he could be of any help at all when the alert came. Even with direct control over Cait, he still knew the toysaurus wasn't build for a straight fight, and that against a Soldier it may not prove much use at all. Even memories of his many battles against Shin-Ra and Weapons and Soldiers and Jenova and Sephiroth weren't able to salve his fear. He wasn't a fighter, never had been and never will be; but, despite this, he still tried to help in whatever measure he could. He couldn't put to rest the fear of what would happen when they found the killer; Varik had coldly told them that _they_ would be the ones to fight the Soldier, sparing his own men from the dangers. He said that if anyone was qualified to fight a psychotic madman, it was a Turk.

"Yo Reeve, any particular reason you want us standin' out here catching our death of a cold?" Reno asked.

Reeve looked at the redhead, silent. Why were they still standing here after Varik dismissed them, he thought?

"You know what? Never mind." He continued before Reeve could answer. "I'm goin' to see if this gig has any coffee. You comin', Rude?"

"Sure."

"Might as well." Elena added, falling in with the two men.

Reeve took a breath and followed, trying to keep his nerves in check. Atma was still not answering her phone, and no one seemed to know where she was. They needed her here, and he worried that something had happened to her. He wanted to see if she was alright, but he was needed here more, and he could only pray that she would arrive.

_**---Unknown Location, Sector Three**_

The emptiness of her dreamscape changed slightly, losing it's luster for something more sharply defined. She recognized reality beneath her eyelids, but kept reign of her bodily functions and stopped before she would jerk around or otherwise betray her awakening. With eyes closed, she focused on her other senses to try and approximate her environment. Her clothing was damp, but not sopping, so she had been sheltered from the rain for a few hours at best, an hour at worst. There was no wind, no scent save that of mud, blood, and moisture in the air. The ground she considered for many seconds, unwilling to even twitch a finger to feel for texture, instead guessing that it was wood based on temperature and pressure on her body. She was laying flat on her back, hands curled against her hips and feet pointed at angles, meaning someone had put her here intentionally and wasn't concerned about comforts or restraints. There was no sound in this place except for rain, louder by her left ear, possibly by a door or window left open. Light was ambient in both eyes, so there was no means to tell how she was oriented by the sun. In the few seconds she spent working out these variables, she determined that she was potentially safe from harm, and risked opening her eyes. They bolted open and scanned the room, mechanically seeking any target to identify and friend or foe.

She was in an empty room, bare white walls and floor, one doorway for an entrance and one window to the outside with another building opposite it, no shadows to determine time or location, no people evident, and no danger present. Atma allowed herself to take in a deep breath, letting her muscles tell the story of the injuries to her body. Her ribs felt fine, but moving her eyes brought out a terrible ache in her skull and forehead, a possible sign of ocular hemorrhaging or even a concussion; recalling the fight she had with the killer, it was entirely possible that was the case. She closed her eyes again and listened, hoping for some sound that would tell her where the killer was, but silence and the white noise of the rain made it impossible to tell anything outside the room. Deciding to take the initiative, she moved her arms and legs slowly until she was in a sitting position, able to look at herself to see what other wounds she collected. Her wrists were sore, but unbruised, as were several other places on her arms and legs. The lack of injury made her curious, knowing full well that she had to have some proof of the fight on her body. She touched herself where she remembered pain, but only felt residual soreness as if from exercise. It was like nothing had happened to her. The idea made her worry, that somehow she had recovered from a vicious fight and couldn't recall how. Putting that concern aside, she looked around for anything that might indicate where the killer had gone to, or why he left her here. Her eyes noted something embedded in the doorframe, something metallic. It was a dagger, _her_ dagger, hammered into the wood like a nail. Atma pressed her lips together in concern.

She stood, trying to remain silent so she didn't make it obvious to whomever was nearby that she was awake. A brief wave of dizziness pressed on her balance, but she willed herself still and waited for it to pass. Confident that she was able to move, she approached the door and yanked the dagger out of the frame and habitually reached to tuck it into her belt, but the leather case was missing. A quick check told that all her weaponry was missing. She contemplated the blade in her hand, deciding to keep it there in case the killer was nearby. She leaned against the wall and checked the hallway outside the room, seeing nothing but a door to her left and a stairwell to the right. Something caught her eye at the stairs, something sticking upright from the top of the climb. She took slow and careful steps, keeping aware of traps, and went up the nine steps until she stood in front of her chisakatana, impaled into the wood like a marker. Atma took the meaning clear enough from there: the killer wanted to fight, marking the way to his battlefield with her weapons and the tease of generosity. She grabbed the weapon and gently wiggled it back and forth, working it loose from the wood until it was free. Holding it in her right hand, dagger reversed in the other, she walked up seven more flights of stairs until she came to a doorway on the roof of the building, four floors above the earth. The door itself was missing, torn loose by the cataclysm those months earlier, exposing the world outside to her eyes. She stepped out slowly, looking around to see if the killer was intending on ambushing her as she entered their arena. There was no one out there, only a commanding view of Midgar and the sectors from atop the three story building, the sky, the rain, and her own hair-trigger instincts. She turned around and looked back at the entryway, wondering if the serial killer had stalked her shadow to this spot. Peripheral vision noted an oddity atop the tiny stairwell, and when she looked up, focused to the killer himself with his arms crossed and his lips curled in a wide smile. Atma froze, surprised.

"Hello again." He said happily.

No reply.

"You must know, I was sincere, then. You are _exemplary_, a _marvel_."

Atma decided that he chose that spot so that he could ramble without being stopped to fight. It only made her more defensive, wondering what sort of a speech she would endure before he came down to continue their fight.

"Soldier second class." He snorted loudly. "An insult. You are worthy of more than that. You deserve better. Why did _they_ reject you?"

The silence stretched on and on, the two individuals waiting on the other to answer or let the moment pass. Atma knew exactly what they referred to, recalling the inhumane experiments that they played with her body and mind, hoping to make a union with her flesh and that of the Ancient. All that came of her suffering and month long fugue was a series of reports listing failures, instabilities, condemnation from superiors who viewed this as a personal affront to their image, and a hole that she had never been able to fill in her soul. Something changed inside her, something that she couldn't pin down, but something that felt as obvious as a scar or a headache. Now and then when her past seemed a blink away from the present, during those weak times in her life, she almost believed that something inside her had broke during that month, something that was still broken and needed to be healed. Disgust would always drive those thoughts away, but this time they wouldn't; being confronted with her failure by another, being demanded for an explanation somehow rationalized those feelings, and for a moment it felt proper to be unresponsible for her weakness. She focused on his eyes and saw a great patience and understanding in them, a kindred sort of appearance that told her that he wasn't asking this to judge her, but to understand her, comrade to comrade.

"I was...incompatible." She spoke haltingly. "I-"

"Did _not_ fail!" The killer barked before she could utter another word. His arms gesticulated as he continued, eyes gaining a fervored glint. "Never! Failure has _never_ cursed you. I know. _I know_! No one like you could ever lose! They - he - thought to label you? To label me?! He never understood what we were, not in the slightest!" He lifted up his right hand, letting her see the knuckles and tendons and the absence of a number. "Numberless, you and I, as if it were a disease! At least that's what he convinced us to think! But we know the _truth_. We know where we stand in the hierarchy of things. We are predators, and that is enough." He took a moment to breathe, looking at her with a pleading expression. "You understand, don't you?"

"Humanity isn't meant to be divided like that." Atma replied. "It thrives by supporting the strong and weak. Both are equal, balanced."

"Yet we are _despised_ because of that fact!"

"You misunderstand. We're despised because we prey on the weak, and that makes them envy us out of the want for revenge."

The killer smiled wider. "Yes."

"No."

"No?"

"No." Atma repeated. "We were told that the strong dominate the weak, that it's their place and ours. That is a lie. The strong are meant to aid the weak, to become their strength so that both benefit. We aren't a people who hunt one another like animals. We co-exist so humanity will grow. Divided we fall, together we rise. _That_ is fact."

"No. No no no!" The killer tottered, face twisted in some horrible expression of horror and pain. "You can't...it's wrong! That's everything that we have to fight! If predators and prey mingle, they...neither will be...we would...!"

"Cease to be." She completed for him.

"_No_!" He screamed, leaping from his podium.

Atma ducked to her side, sword flashing up into the killer's path. Unable to dodge, the killer lifted his arms and let them take the brunt of the attack, skin and flesh parting as gravity dragged him into the path of the blade. He rolled forward and twisted, turning to face her while urgently growling the mantras to his materia, casting the magic to heal the lacerations. She stepped forward and struck out, sword leaping to impale itself into his chest, but he slid to the side and watched the weapon slide harmlessly between arm and torso. He leaned forward only slightly, hoping to get within the arc of her sword, but the dagger in her other hand snapped up and warded him off. He stepped back as she lashed at him, then further as she applied both dagger and sword together in a wall of mythril to keep him from even approaching. The woman was furious in her action, even more urgent than the fight in the street, and this made the killer even happier to have found such a prize despite her failings. He clenched his hand and summoned up another spell, casting it with a flick of the wrist. Instead of a blast of fire, decided against due to the rain and the already soaked body he targeted, the air grew impossibly still and condensed until it went below freezing and became something entirely other than ice, encasing the woman completely. It shattered a moment later, unsupported by his power and left in a hostile environment, but the effects were immediate and pleasing. The woman was still as if still frozen, chips of ice and frost lining her skin and the hems of her clothing, eyes wide in shock and surprise. The killer stepped forward and backhanded her with his fist, waited for her instinct to right her position, then drove his hand forward and punched her clean in the nose, mashing bone with a crack. She stumbled but recovered her defenses, the pain enough to knock her free of the magical shock, and the killer retreated to avoid being harmed. Blood ran down her lips and her chin, dribbling to the ground and running slickly down her neck, but it seemed of no more consequence than a papercut. He snarled at her, fury unstoppered from his soul screaming in his head.

"_Why_?!" He demanded.

The word was loaded with so many questions, each of them burning in Atma's mind as she held herself defensively. Why start Soldier? Why twist people's minds? Why transform their bodies? Why allow them free reign to kill and be killed, to act as mindless as animals in the heat of the moment? Why reject your existence? Why call this your existence at all if you hate it so? They pried at her logic, broke down barriers and clashed against her beliefs. It felt as thought to answer that question was to lay her soul bare and be forced to see her hypocrisies and to choose, once and for all, whether to believe her lies or the truth she internalized the day she became a soldier. The killer stood still, eyes burning with restrained fury as he waited for her response, eager to understand and forgive or to condemn. She looked hard at herself, at the life she led and the things she accepted as being her lot. That question that Reeve had asked her those weeks ago floated up from memory.

_'Why don't you? No one said you have to stay calm all the time...you aren't in Soldier any more...'_

_'Was it all wrong? Is it wrong to live this way? Have I been just as ignorant? No. I've merely deceived myself all this time...lied to myself to survive. No more. If Soldier is dead, then their teachings must be as well. I can't live as I am any longer. I must...change...'_

"We were wrongly made." She finally replied. "They killed us, remade us into weapons. But the Soldier program is dead. We have to start our lives over, forget who we are and remember who we were."

"_No_! Only the strong have the right to live! We are Soldiers forevermore! You can't just ignore your nature, you must thrive in it!"

"Then I reject my nature!" Atma snapped back, anger lacing her words. She stood erect and lowered her chisakatana and dagger, daring him to act, glaring into his eyes and soul. "I won't delude myself any longer. My name is Delita Atma, no more, no less."

"De-li-ta..." The killer cooed, losing a little of his anger for a lovesick stare. "We are two sides of a coin, I think. I love you as much as I hate you, Delita. Why does it have to be like this?"

"It's like you said," she answered, "two sides of the same coin."

"Then let's flip it and see how it falls."

The killer charged, and Atma ducked between his grasping arms and drove her dagger into his chest again, this time slotted between his lowest two ribs, all the inertia needed to kill provided by his reckless attack. He gasped in pain but had the sense to close his arms around her in a crushing bearhug, driving the wind from her lungs and trapping her arms as effective as a vice. She twisted to get free but could not, dagger hilt pressing into her shoulder as he clasped his hands together at the small of her back to make sure she couldn't get away. He lifted her off her feet and leaned his head down, forehead touching her scalp as he vied for her attention. She only looked up as a cough racked his body and blood issued from the back of his throat, telling of a pierced lung. She met his eyes and saw defeat in them, despair and angst and regret that was more shocking than any of his other actions. He began dragging the both of them to the right, slowly and methodically closer to the end of the rooftop. She looked to the edge of the building and back at him, and somehow she knew what he intended to do. The recognition in her eyes sparked a horrible laugh from the killer, a bubbling gurgle that barely passed his lips. He smiled widely, revealing blood-stained teeth.

"I won't let you go," he swore in shallow breaths. "You are _mine_. We'll hunt one another in eternity."

With that, he leaned over the edge, and they both fell into open sky.

_**---Sector Police Staging Ground, Sector Three**_

The interior of the bus was crowded by design, more so by the many officers seeking refuge from the rain and a chance for something hot to warm their bodies. It had been two hours since the first team left to begin searching the seven blocks and to establish a solid line of observation from end to end, ensuring that no one came or went without being seen. Reports had been constant, but nothing came of them save evidence of people and paranoid terrors over cats and rats and innocent sounds. The tension, already high strung, had snapped time after time as fights and shouting matches rattled through the base. The bus seemed the safest place to be, occupants more concerned about hunger than grudges or tempers. However, in the rear of the bus, Reno and Elena made up for everyone else by continuing their seemingly endless spat over whatever complaint they could think against the other.

Reno set his coffee mug loudly onto the tiny table separating him from his blonde counterpart. "'Lena, I gotta ask you this, so don't take it personally, but why the fuck are you bein' the biggest bitch this side of sanity?"

"What the hell do you mean by that?!" Elena demanded.

The redhead glared at her over his nose. "You know what I mean. Before meteor you were just another ditzy blonde, all eager to please and fallin' head over heels with half the fuckin' men in the Turks. Now you're just bitchy and mopey and shit. What. The. Hell?"

"Damn it, Reno-"

"Just answer me already."

"It's...well, I..." She felt heat running up her cheeks, nervous. She looked around the small sitting area of the barbecue bus, seeing that everyone was busy resting or talking, but ears could hear, and all of them had at least one aimed at her and their conversation. She growled and stood up. "Let's go outside."

"Why?"

"Just do it, Reno. Please."

He looked at her oddly, but shrugged. "Alright."

The two walked down the tiny aisle, past Reeve and Rude and other officers, and back into the steady rain. Elena walked towards the end of the bus, looking around to make sure no other people were too close to eavesdrop. Satisfied, she stopped and turned back to face Reno, the redhead displeased to be back in the weather.

"Make it-"

"I'm worried about you, alright!" She blurted before he could continue. "We all had problems after meteor, but you've just been...I dunno, distracted or something. You never concentrate on work and you never makes jokes or pranks unless your drunk and you always want to get smashed every night. You're never happy about _anything_. You never even told me where you were after meteor hit." She stopped a moment to gather herself, looking at him and hoping she was making sense. "What happened to you?"

"You first," he insisted.

"No, you talk. This is all your fault."

He lifted his hands in mock defense. "My fault? Hold-"

"Yes, yours! I complain because I want to know what's wrong with you, and you always ignore me! I'm scared that you're hiding something from me and it's hurting you."

"Everyone's got their secrets, 'Lena."

"Not us. We're Turks, Reno, we don't have secrets between each other." Her hand reached out for him, but she hesitated and pulled it back to her shoulder. "Don't you trust me?"

"This ain't somethin' to discuss."

"So there is something. Won't you tell me, friend to friend?"

"Friend?"

"Yeah. I'd like to think we're friends by now."

He snorted in humor. "You must have a weird definition of friends, 'Lena."

"Stop, Reno," she said, hand finally stretching to bridge the distance between them. She saw how he flinched as she took his shoulder. "Just stop."

"'Lena-"

"No. No more sarcasm, no more jokes. We...God, can't we just _talk_?"

For once, Reno didn't snap back any insult or witty comment, instead returning her gaze with a confused expression on his face. Elena held back her fear, knowing that this was treading into unknown ground for them and that this wasn't the time to screw it up. Her hand slid from his shoulder and returned to her side. She stood as still as she could, ignoring the rain that slid into her eyes, waiting for something to happen. Seconds passed as they looked at one another before Reno sighed, shoulders sagging and his head lilting.

"You really wanna know?" He asked calmly.

"Yes."

He hesitated a moment, then bobbed his head absently. "Alright."

"You know we were evacuating the tower when that fuckin' meteor hit. Well, fuck, you know the shit we hit tryin' to save them, except we didn't know jack shit to do when the lifestream blew it apart. I was in sector one when it fell. God-damn, it felt like the world was gonna end, but I managed. It was hell, 'Lena, I swear up and down that's what hell's gonna look like for me. I didn't know what to do, so I just started walking. That's when I found her."

"Her?" Elena inquired.

Reno lifted a hand to silence her, continuing. "Yeah, her. Raine Soto, little Rainy.

"I was looking through homes for anyone who survived, but there were just bodies. It was in one of those ritzy apartments on twenty third that I found her. She was hurt bad, both legs broke, all cut up, but she fuckin' _smiled_ when I found her, like everything was fine. Told me her life story while I tried to patch her up. Girl wasn't even seven yet, birthday just three weeks away. She told me about her friends and her dolls and jokes and insisted I call her Rainy like her friends did. She kept askin' about her mom and pop, but they were both dead where the upper floors collapsed. I just told her they were lookin' for help, that I was gonna look after her. She _believed_ me. I burned myself out usin' materia, straightened her bones the best I could, tied up her cuts, even fuckin' kissed her boo-boo forehead. I didn't know how to carry her out 'cause of her legs, but she needed a hospital. I told her I had to go, gave her my cure orb and told her to hold it tight and pray to get better. I ran as hard as I could, screaming my lungs out. No one was around. I went back when night came, told her that we were gonna spend the night here and leave in the morning. We ate cold canned soup for dinner. I even read her a fuckin' bedtime story."

He paused in his monologue, holding himself in check. He clenched his eyes shut and opened them with a hard expression. "She was dead when I woke up. Dead. Even after I did everything I could, she just died, like nothing I did meant a god-damn thing."

She tried to control her expression, but teary eyes still came in response to the horror that he described. Reno chuckled, trying just as hard to stay in control of his emotions. "That did it. It was the straw that broke the horse's back. The one time I try to do somethin' right, I get fucked over. I took her and walked all the way to the plains, buried her with my bare hands in the dead earth. I lied about my phone, 'Lena, I buried it with her and my ID. If bein' a Turk wasn't good enough to save a little kid, then fuck it, I'd go without. I just hung around the city and drank myself to sleep every night. I was gonna leave for good, 'cept you found me, and here we are."

Elena stepped forward and grabbed him in a fierce hug, and he returned the gesture just as quickly. His voice cracked when he talked. "Damn it, 'Lena, I _tried_! I tried to save her!"

"I know," she cooed. "I know you did your best."

"'Lena, I-"

"Hey!"

The voice cut across the rain like a knife, and the two of them leap apart and turned to face the speaker. Reeve was standing there, face lit in surprise and confusion.

"Hey what?" Reno asked, voice unhinting at the grief he confessed to seconds ago.

"They found him!" Rude continued, jumping out of the bus with his shades pushed up on his nose. "One of the spotters see him on an apartment roof with a woman with silver hair!"

"Sounds like our Soldier girl."

"Hold on, something's happening," Reeve said, hand bearing a radio headset to his ear. "The killer charged Atma, he's got her in a hold...they're moving...they're...oh my god."

"What is it?" Elena asked.

Reeve lowered the radio, face ashen and horror stricken. "They fell. He fell and took Atma with him..."


	12. Twelve

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

**: The Past Concluded :**

_I've been taught that the past only offers lessons about how to learn from our failures. I've been taught that emotions are only a tool to use, a buffer to our talent, a key to our physical and mental limits. I've been taught that friendships only lead to weakness and grant our enemies leverage against us. I've been taught to never deviate from the Soldier code, that the warrior instinct is the only true path to follow, that the strong have the right to control and use the weak. I've been taught that family is meaningless, that camaraderie between Soldiers is the only bond we need._

_I've learned that what we're taught isn't always the truth._

_It would seem that I have much to learn._

_-Atma_

_**---Grace Hospital, Sector Two**_

The room was silent except the rustle of persons and the clatter of carts, voices muted to whispers, sparse and cherished medical equipment humming and beeping. The whole floor was similarly respected, used as the outpatient recovery ward where those not in immediate danger rested and regained their strength and their wits. It was crowded, never truly empty since it was opened and the victims of meteor's wrath poured in for treatment. The doctors and nurses, all of them veterans of the slums and barely half officially trained in their schooling, were pleased to see so much money being dedicated to their center after years of making due with the leftovers from the plates. The small building was expanded, built on, and still grew larger as the city government strived to make it the general hospital of the whole region. The surgeons and specialists from the plates were appalled at the conditions under which they operated, but rather than turn that disgust into anger, they focused it to improving their workplace so it was as good as the ones they came from. That dedication spread easily, and the moral of the neighborhood rose in turn. Like the sector police headquarters in Sector Three, the hospital became a locus for renewal and hope for the citizens.

Few people were visiting the hospital, having returned home in the evening light, leaving only the desperate and dedicated to their vigils. Reeve, slouched on a stool, turned a page in the tattered book he borrowed from the lobby downstairs, unaware and passive to the time. It wasn't a particularly good story, but the sappy drama helped distract him from the demands piling up at his doorstep; he didn't want to get lost in work until he knew that she would be okay. The privacy curtain slid open and Rude stepped through, both hands bearing paper cups with steaming coffee. Reeve closed the book and set it onto the bed and accepted the offered mug, taking a few gulps to rouse his sluggish head from half sleep.

"Still?" Rude asked.

"Yeah," he replied.

Rude nodded understanding, reaching up to tuck his sunglasses into his coat pocket and resting on the other stool in the cordoned area. "No change?"

"No."

Reeve looked down at Atma, silently amazed that she survived the fall off the building and also worried that she might never recover any more than she had. Her head was wrapped in bandages across her forehead and her jaw, nose pinned by a metal brace to correct the bone, and he knew that beneath the blankets her body was equally bruised and battered. A lone intravenouses needle was pressed into her exposed left arm, the saline bag hanging half empty next to the bed. An EKG monitor silently measured her pulse, even and steady as a clock. Only the slow rise and fall of her chest gave evidence that she was alive. The surgeon who headed her operation said that the concussion she suffered was severe, that it might even be as bad as permanent brain damage, although he couldn't tell since he lacked the tools to tell for certain. It would be weeks still until the needed equipment arrived from Junon, and until then, he gave no hope or fear about her condition. Being unconscious and with a good pulse, he said, was sufficient enough to hope for a natural recovery. Reeve had greater faith in her, though. He knew that Soldiers were survivors, that she wouldn't succumb to death so easily.

"Where's Elena and Reno?" He asked.

"Still at the tower."

Reeve nodded. After the killer was identified and brought back to the precinct for an autopsy, Varik admitted to having a generator on hand and having it for four days before. The row between him and the police chief went on for nearly an hour, but eventually the greater burden was sided with the chief and his irrational actions that might have costed them days of needless terror. He still had the generator taken to the tower so they could find out the identity of their killer, determined to know who it was that tormented their city for nearly a month and cost it fifteen lives. He wanted to do this himself, but felt his duty was to see over Atma, and had asked that they take care of it.

"Any word yet?"

"No," Rude said. "The personnel database is corrupted. Reno thinks he can repair the data, but he is not sure how long it will take."

"Did he have a guess?"

"No, but I doubt it will be easy. Several thousand entries, each recovered by hand; it would be a challenge even for the programmers."

"So then we shouldn't expect much."

"I'm afraid not."

Reeve sighed, frustrated. "Alright."

"You need to rest."

"I'm fine."

"You're half asleep and you probably haven't eaten well in three days," Rude countered. "Go, I will watch her."

"But-"

"There is no sense in making yourself ill just for honor's sake. No one will fault you, least of all her."

Reeve remained silent for a few seconds, then nodded in understanding. He stood and stretched his arms, rolling his neck stiffly. He looked at Rude, exhaustion obvious on his features. "You'll call me if she wakes up, right?"

"Of course."

He nodded. "Alright. Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight."

Reeve parted the curtain and left, footsteps loud in the silence until he rounded a corner and faded from earshot. Rude sighed deeply, wondering why the man was so worried over a woman he knew only professionally over the course of a few weeks. He supposed it was guilt that tore at him, the same sort of pain any good commander felt at the troubles of his men. He looked over at the Soldier, checking her vitals and her breathing. There was no familiarity in her appearance, no tickle in his memory when he thought back to that night. Just another nameless Soldier whose talents helped him and his long since retired comrades get their mission done. Still, such a coincidence was enough to surprise him, enough to make him concerned for her well being. He checked the EKG monitor again and considered the statistics that rolled across the screen. His brows narrowed after he observed them for a few minutes.

"How long have you been awake?" He asked her.

There was no response, but the monitor showed her pulse strengthen a few digits. It was enough to prove she heard him, he knew.

"Why don't you want to speak with him?"

A meager sigh issued from her throat, and her eyes opened slowly from rest. She raised herself upright, arms sliding back to prop herself there, and carefully lifted a hand to tuck her hair behind her ears so it rested on the tips of her shoulders. Her expression looked empty, whether from the sleep or from control, he couldn't tell. He waited patiently for her to talk when she was ready. Her eyes flicked towards his, the mako glow muted so they looked almost normal in the dim light. They stared at one another that way for moments, judging, thinking. Atma broke the connection, eyes drifting off to look through the floor to something within.

"I've changed," she said carefully, "and he helped me, but he doesn't know it. I need time to understand myself, time to figure out what I believe in. I'm not Soldier anymore, I'm...me. The serial killer, he was my antithesis. He was my future if I continued to follow that creed. I need to know who I am now, who I was before. He...would want to help me, but he can't. This is personal, something I have to do on my own. You understand, don't you?"

He accepted all this without question, though he wondered why she chose to confess to him. "Yes."

"So..."

"I will stay, but I'll leave you to your thoughts."

She smiled weakly. "Thank you."

She lay back down and tugged the blankets back to her throat, closing her eyes to return to sleep.

"He means well," Rude added on. "It is his nature to help others."

"I know," she replied, "but I need to stand on my own if I want to help others as well."

_**---Isuzuka, Sector Two**_

The rain was finally beginning to slacken, the stiff mountain wind pushing the storm back out to sea. The population in turn began resuming their outdoor activities, clearing away rubble and debris from streets and storefronts, taking up their tools to repair and rebuild their broken homes. The evening hour ushered them back inside just as much as rain would, but with the promise for a long day tomorrow. The lounge enjoyed the same measure of business regardless, although the atmosphere was noticeably brighter as people talked about the improvements they made or planned around their lives; copious servings of imported beer only added to this. An archaic record jukebox clunked as the arms moved, lifting and storing a vinyl disk and sliding a new one in it's place. The change in tune from scratchy jazz to plucky folk went unnoticed in the din of conversations and the clatter of mugs and flatware. Against the corner of the bar, Lari cared little for the genre of music, simply happy to hear something that helped remind her of civilization and modern society. The barkeep sided up to the counter and slid her a fresh mug of beer, honest to god house on tap beer, with a grin and a wink for the lady. She took the glass and drank several gulps of it, wondering how long the keep would insist on his silent flirting. If he could see her mako eyes beneath her sunglasses, she was certain no one in the bar would approach her unless they meant to kill her on the spot. Her head swam in the cheap brew, but she didn't care and wallowed in the drunken pleasures. She had been here every night for four days, drinking herself into a stupor, trying desperately to kill her memory so it didn't hurt so bad when she thought of that night.

She had lived. Waking up on the street completely soaked through, she expected to die from the shivers and the fever that wracked her body, but death skirted her as if happy to let her suffer. Hunger eventually animated her legs and arms, and she stumbled down the street, visiting a hole in the wall eatery to salve her pangs. That same motivation urged her on to a used trinkets store for dry clothing and mirror and comb, then lastly a corner motel for a hot shower and a fifteen hour stint in a stale bed. Her many wounds had scabbed over, but blood still trickled from her chest and the pain was just as intense as the moment they were inflicted. The better part of a day she spent hunting through every store in the neighborhood, buying bandages and antibiotic salves, and eventually a healing materia at nearly everything she was worth. Since then her routine was to sleep, eat and heal and inspect her wounds, then drink at Isuzuka until last call. She was physically well, only bruises and deep cuts lingering across her torso, but mentally she felt broken and helpless. She had lived, but without Yukio and his mission, without Farrah or any of her comrades, it felt like a life wasted. Even the anger and rage and the demands for vengeance in her heart weren't enough to overcome the depression that settled in her mind. She was weak, discarded even though he cared for her, and wouldn't last at all if she tried to face her demons. It was over. All she had left was the means to her end, either by petty revenge or drowning in her sorrow, and so far drowning in liquor seemed the easiest of them. She lifted her mug and drank deeply, setting it aside when it was dry and empty. Another sigh rattled from her lungs.

"You're a tough woman to find, Lari," someone spoke from her side.

She glanced over at the individual and felt a rush of recognition jolt her spine and her nerves. In rumpled pants and shirt, crinkled leather jacket and pristine cowboy hat, stood Stoke with an expression that seemed between relief and crushing anxiety. Her mouth opened to say something, but the words lodged in her throat, so she stood and nearly threw herself into his arms with a gasp of joy and sorrow. Stoke caught her easily, holding her as she tried to break his ribs in her embrace. She broke down after a moment, sobs wracking her body.

"Oh god, Stoke...they _killed_ him!" She wept into his chest. "They killed _everyone_!"

"Hush, girl, you're makin' a scene," he insisted, moving to sit her back down in her seat. "Calm down. Take a deep breath."

She wheezed in and held it in, then exhaled and tried to control herself.

"That's better." Stoke walked around her and sat in an adjacent spot, turning to face her. "You look good."

"How did you find me? How did you know I was alive?"

"Yukio reads like a book. As soon as he told me you came back, I knew he'd do whatever it took to protect you. I just didn't know where he'd send you."

Her cheeks reddened at the admission. "Was it...?"

"Yeah, it was. I think half of 'em knew there was somethin' between you two. I figured that if he'd kick you out once, he'd do it again just as quick." He paused as the bartender arrived, ordering a double scotch neat to get the man away. "Look, I need to know what happened. I went back and the place is wrecked! What did they do?"

"They...they sent me back as a bloody messenger! Said that we'd have to surrender or he'd kill us all. He offered terms...said that I could go free. He said it was fuckin' mercy, the bastard, like he was doin' us a favor!" She broke into tears again, hands masking her face. "I wish none of this ever happened..."

Stoke grimaced at her emotions, but placed a hand across her shoulder in comfort. "Hey, none of this is your fault. You couldn't have done any good there."

"What, 'cause I'm _weak_?" She accused. "Well I am! I can't do a bloody thing and he knew it. That's why he sent me away..."

"Girl, he did it because he cared for you. I know it's clichéd, but he knew you wouldn't be safe with him, and he didn't want that for you. He let you go because he loved you."

"But _why_?!"

"What, you'd rather be dead like him?"

"I might as well be."

Stoke took her chin firmly and turned her head so they looked eye to eye. "No, you don't. He sacrificed himself so you'd be safe, and so did the others. You wanna make all that worthless?"

"But I can't _do_ anything..."

"Then why're you armed to the teeth, eh? You carryin' those blades just for show?"

Lari nudged her head out of his hand, staring at the countertop. Stoke grunted and reached for the waiting scotch, taking a healthy gulp with a hoarse, satisfied sigh. He looked back at her. "You aren't weak. You know that. You're better than most of us. You can do more than cry like a little girl because you lost someone important to you."

"You don't understand how much it hurts."

"Like no one else ever lost a lover before? Don't give me excuses, girl, you're just afraid."

"I'm not."

"Bull."

"I'm _not_!" She repeated loudly.

"Then prove it," Stoke dared. When she didn't react, he leaned closer to her. "Come on, prove your not just a whiny little bitch."

Her hand shot into her coat and back out, a blur that focused into one of her finger thin stilettos quivering just centimeters from Stoke's right eye. To his credit, the old Soldier didn't blink at the weapon, but grinned knowing that deep down her instincts were still sharp and in control. He leaned back and lowered her arm, glancing around to make sure no one was taking undue panic about a drawn weapon. She didn't resist, pocketing the implement.

"See? You can do this," he praised.

"B-But how are we gonna find the bastards?"

He picked up his glass again to drink. "Already done."

Lari arched her eyebrows. "Eh?"

He finished the scotch in one swig with a wry smile. "I know where they are, and who's giving them orders."

_**---Sector Police Headquarters**_

The interior of the precinct was quieter than normal, mostly because the officers who normally reported in during the day were out in the abandoned region of sector three hunting down enemy Soldiers. Those who manned the communication center, however, were mad with action, taking down reports and writing furiously the news coming in from the different zones the police searched. It had been much worse at the start, having to track on paper the location of every squad and their actions in looking for the serial killer or places where he might have been. When the crescendo of the hunt finally climaxed and retreated, the killer found along with the woman who tracked and fought him, things began to take on a normal routine. Each Soldier found afterwards merely meant a few minutes of action, eventually ending in another prisoner or another corpse to label. The cells were already packed to the brim, each one with a man or woman chaffing at the bars and screaming like animals for freedom or the promise of torment if they were kept there an instant longer. Other precincts were in similar states, forcing the judicial court's hand to begin trying them as criminals, going through the motions so that each one proven guilty could be executed without remark. Lawyers, the few who remained in Midgar, raged over the inequities of the system and demanded better than a kangaroo court to legalize murder. It took the presence of mayor Hart to convince them that their actions were of a military matter and that they had no legal right to public trial, that each of their treasons were punishable under military law by death. The legal dance still went on, each side using any means to prove their end despite knowing it was for radicals slowly becoming a citywide hazard.

Varik dropped his hat and coat onto his chair, exhausted by the days workload. All he wanted was to go home and sleep for a week to get the fatigue out of his bones, but he didn't even have the luxury of his own bed because of his responsibilities; ever since they suspected the serial killers existence, he had been sleeping in a cot in the locker room to save time commuting. Before he could turn in, he had to visit one of his prisoners and settle an important matter. He walked to the back of the main office and opened the door to the holding cells, letting out the racket of the Soldier's voices. The officer posted there to watch them looked back, startled, but relaxed when he recognized his superior.

"They're _still_ goin' at it?" He asked.

"Yeah," the officer drawled, "they're just like dogs, all yappin' 'cause they want out."

"Don't insult the dogs," Varik chuckled. He walked down the hall, keeping towards the middle to avoid groping hands that clawed for him, focused on the last cell on the left. Out of all the Soldiers here, this one was the only one silent, choosing to rest against the wall with his head drooped down in rest. He kicked the metal bars, rattling them to get his attention. The Soldier's eyes opened and darted to stare at his own, and a grin curled his lips. Despite round after round of interrogation, he still maintained that same sickening arrogance and sense of control. The animosity between them was tangible each time they met.

"Hey there, _chief_."

"Fuck you, Soldier, I got your man."

"Who?"

"Your god-damn serial killer partner, that's who!" He laughed for dramatic effect. "Tried to get away and ended up fallin' off a roof, broke his fuckin' neck. How's that for a pathetic ending?"

The Soldier laughed as well. "That _is_ a first! Ain't that right, guys?"

The question lingered in the air, and Varik felt a chill run along his spine when it dawned on him that the room had gone dead silent. He looked back at the other cells, and a dozen sets of glowing eyes returned the gaze. They all had grins on their faces, all of them looking amused by the death of their comrade in arms. The police chief tried to keep his expression professional, but a primal fear curled in his gut and wouldn't settle. He looked back at his special prisoner, eyes demanding an explanation.

"Any of you guys broke your neck before?" The Soldier asked his fellow inmates.

A handful of ayes replied, voices intermingled as they explained the scenario and how they came out right as rain. When their voices trailed off, the Soldier stood up from the ground and walked to the bars, leaning on them innocently. "Breakin' your neck ain't as lethal if your one of us, chief. I'm bein' honest when I say it's a surprise to hear that he did."

"You know what that means, then," Varik asked.

"Oh yes, I'm 'no longer useful to you', is that it? Gonna finish what you started or just posture some more? Gonna send me to _court_ like a good little boy?"

Varik reached up and drew out his personal revolver, a forty five caliber longbarrel, and cocked the hammer, letting the loud click speak for him. The Soldier smiled wider, stepping back into the middle of the cell.

"Well alrighty, then," He tapped his forehead mockingly, "here's your target, boss."

Varik lifted his arm and shot him right where his finger lay, a blossom of blood spattering out from between his eyes. The body fell back with a mute thump, silent in the wake of the ringing gunshot. The other Soldiers didn't make a move in offense at the killing, keeping silent in their team effort at unnerving the man. The chief holstered his gun and shook his head, grinning. It had been ages too long to finally put the miserable bastard in his place; it made his whole day worthwhile.

"See you in hell," he muttered, turning to leave.

"I see you right now!" The corpse replied.

Varik jumped at the sound, whipping back to stare at the dead Soldier, seeing luminous blue eyes staring back at him. The man leaned up and put a finger to the bloody tear above his nose, rubbing digits slick with blood together as if curious to the texture. He slowly got to his feet, baring his teeth in a predatory grin at the police chief.

"Good aim," the soldier remarked, "but not very deadly."

Varik snatched his pistol back out and fired again, this time the bullet liquefying an eyeball and knocking the man back a step. He didn't fall, didn't even stumble into the wall. The Soldier hesitated a moment, then carefully turned to face the officer again, baring the hole in his face with blood and bits of bone and brain for him to see. His smile stayed just as vicious, even wider like a death mask.

"Ooh, that _tingled_, chief."

Varik fired a third time, and this time the back of the Soldier's head burst out like a melon and stained the walls and floor with gore, body collapsed and still. The chief fired the remaining three bullets, shredding his neck and jawline so that his skull was nearly pulped and scattered across the cell. He held the gun upright, felt his arms and legs shivering in fear and knew that terror had infected his head. He let go of the breath he held and took in a rattled gasp of air. He lowered the gun, had to concentrate to get his limbs to act, and couldn't stop himself from quivering like some coward. It had taken three rounds _in the head_ to kill him. The image of his smile wouldn't go away, festering like rot in his vision. If he lacked for nightmares, that grin would be worse than any he ever had.

"A little overkill, eh?" One of the inmates commented.

"Fuck you all!!" Varik shouted at the crowd. "You'll get yours soon enough!"

"Oh, I'mma shakin' in my boots!" The man crowed, voice turning to laughter soon after. "Watch out for the big, bad policeman! He's gonna kill us all!"

The rest of the Soldiers joined in the humor, chuckling or doubled over from laughing so hard. Varik felt his face redden in anger and embarrassment, terribly confused that the Soldiers would choose to laugh about the killing of one of their own. Didn't they have any sense of preservation? Didn't they have any humanity? No. They were animals, and if one of the pack died, then that just meant one less mouth to feed. The police chief ejected the spent shells from the chamber and pocketed them, holstered the gun, and walked out of the holding pen. The officer on watch, stunned mute and still, just watched as the chief opened the door and walked away as if nothing had happened. Varik headed for his desk and sat down in his chair, dropping the revolver on the surface before propping his head up with his arms. His nerves felt like ice, his thoughts sluggish in shock. It struck him, fully and completely, why no other army could outdo or outperform the Soldier program. Shinra had an entire army of them to command, a legion of perfect killers who had no fear, no weakness, no humanity to burden them. They didn't fear death at all, they embraced it with a smile and open arms.

_'They're demons, lunatics,'_ He thought, _'worse than animals, worse than monsters. Oh god, and they're all loose in Midgar. What are we going to do?'

* * *

Author's Note:_

I suppose I should be speaking (writing?) in a tone meant for an audience, but if my eyes are indeed telling the truth, my audience is more accurately represented as people in a handful of chairs facing the podium in the corner of the coffeehouse. But such is life! And before I start to ramble too much, I want to thank everyone who's been enjoying the ride. Tiramisu of Impending Doom, J.L. Dexter, toomanynotes, it meant _a lot_ that you've stuck by me since this whole affair began. Knowing that even a few people have enjoyed reading this story, have spent their time in a busy world to read something of my own creation, makes the whole process worthwhile. So thankyouthankyouthankyou! If I could issue physical units of awesome for such loyalty, each of you would be swimming in them!

Right. So ends the heartfelt babbles. In actual news relating to the story, we're roughly at the halfway mark of the plot. Expect the unexpected and the routine! Get your gun and phone the neighbors, there's a war a' brewin' and it's taking names!


	13. Thirteen

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

**: The Past Concluded :**

**Segment Two: The Predators**

_**---Conference Room One, City Government Office**_

Hart Adagio penned a final signature to the last page in the stack of documents in front of him; it amazed him how many legal proceedings had to be observed to do something as simple as found a new metropolis.

"Okay," he muttered to the members of the board, "that's it. Get word down the line to start construction, I don't want to delay this any longer than we have to."

"Sir," one of the members spoke up, "aren't you going to make any statements to the public? Will there be any ceremony?"

Hart fixed the woman with a sharp glare. "I think the public will be happier seeing clean homes up now instead of after a pointless speech." He turned to look at each of the members, catching their eyes. "That goes for all of you. Keep things moving. Let the people know that we're working as fast as we can to get new homes built for them. Once they see the foundation for Edge City take shape, that will boost moral better than any speech could. Understood?"

The members chimed in their yesses.

"Anything else to add?"

From the rear of the room, Alexander Reeve stood up and folded his hands together idly. "I have, but I don't mean to keep everyone here. This only concerns mister Wikker and yourself, sir."

Hat nodded. "Very well, meeting adjourned."

The executives stood and filed out of the room, leaving Hart alone with the police commander and the one-time Shin-Ra urban developer. Both men approached and took seats at the mayor's left and right.

"What's this about, mister Reeve?" The police commander asked.

"It's about the problem we have with the rogue Soldiers," Reeve answered.

"I thought this was cleared up," Hart spoke.

"Only partly, sir. We stopped the serial killer and put an end to that dilemma. That itself is a great burden lifted from our shoulders, but we've still got a growing problem in the sectors. Other Soldiers, ones just as dangerous as the killer, are starting to fight one another and form gangs. Both Reno and Rude agree that it means that leaders are beginning to emerge and bring Soldiers back together into their squads and divisions when they were under Shinra's control. I don't think we need to discuss how big a danger that means to our safety."

"Chief Varik assures me that he's got the situation in Sector Three under control," Wikker replied.

"Which he does, I know, but this isn't just about Sector Three. All the sectors could be in the same danger. I don't want to sound like an alarmist, but there is a serious chance that the Soldiers could unite and take over all of Midgar."

"To what ends? We hardly have anything worth controlling," the commander speculated. "We're in the slums, y'know. Except for the people, there's nothin' of value to take."

"Maybe that's all they want, Wikker, _people_. Why did the serial killer do what he did? I think it was because he enjoyed hunting people down like animals, like it was a game. If that's how all the other Soldiers act, then we're all in danger."

"You're bein' paranoid. Serial killers like that are rare, one in a million. I know the Soldiers are all crazy in the head, but it doesn't mean they're all _that_ crazy."

"But they might be! Are you willing to take that risk?"

"Before you answer," Hart interrupted, lifting a hand, "what are you getting at, Reeve?"

"Well, I've been thinking about how we can stop the Soldiers from doing whatever they like. Even if they don't start a killing spree, you saw how much trouble it was to stop just one of them. A whole army...we wouldn't stand a chance alone."

"And?"

"What I propose is this: filling the vacuum of power that was left behind when Shin-Ra was destroyed. Right now we have the leadership, but little power to enforce it. Without men and women willing to take on the job of protecting this city, it will only end in tragedy. There is a war brewing out there. It's quiet and hidden, but it'll destroy us just the same. This is why I want to create our own army." Reeve held up a hand to stall arguments before they were said. "Listen! What I mean is, an army of people dedicated to preserving the peace and unity of Midgar, and eventually the world. Shin-Ra wasn't only in control here, they had their hands in every city and village from Kalm to Rocket Town and even Wutai. Those places are going through this exact same problem, being plagued by the evils that Shin-Ra left behind; Soldiers, officers of the military, maybe even monsters leftover from their experiments. Only Junon has a real chance at organizing a government that can handle the demands they face. The rest of us will have to work from the ground up, and fight hard to become independent."

"Your point, Alexander?" Wikker demanded.

"My point is that the world needs a group to clean up after Shin-Ra, to help restore their infrastructure. My thought for such a group would be named the World Restoration Order, the WRO. Consider it an antithesis to Shin-Ra's armies; where they pillaged, controlled, and maligned people, we would aid, enlighten, and give them a chance at making a new life. At the least, we can clean up the Mako reactors and ensure the safety of the planet. At it's fullest, I hope that it would be a mediating force to settle disputes between governments and cities before wars arise, and to halt them if they do as soon as possible."

Both Hart and Wikker remained silent for a few moment, absorbing the enormity of the dream that Reeve spoke of. Hart leaned forward and rested his elbows on the tabletop. "What's to say that we won't look just like Shin-Ra, taking over when the people are weak?"

"We won't. Like I said, the WRO would be there to help in whatever was needed, new homes, setting up city governments, or protecting them from attack. The important thing is that we _move on_ once we're not needed. The world got along fine before Shin-Ra, it can do it again. It has to."

"Are you a military strategist?" Wikker asked.

Reeve shook his head. "No."

"Then let me be clear that you can't just make an army by snappin' your fingers. It'd take months, probably years, before we had enough men trained and ready to fight. Are you just goin' to ask those Soldiers to sit back while we make a force to stop them?"

"This isn't just an army! Sure, we'll need soldiers to protect people, but the WRO will be mostly civilians. We'll need engineers, teachers, doctors, every job a city needs to function properly."

"So then, back to my point, how can we make this WRO of yours happen if we have an army of Soldiers bearin' down on us?"

"We'll need more volunteers for the sector police, certainly. There should be enough officers to train people as they come. Mister Adagio, we do have PHS communications with Junon, right?"

"Yes."

"Then we should call on them for help."

"Aren't they in the same jam as us?" Wikker interrupted.

"Maybe. From what Rude told me, he said that the city is running fine. Shin-Ra loyalty is high, but in control. The Soldiers there are still following orders from their commanders."

"So you're proposing we ask them for help. Fight fire with fire," Hart said.

Reeve shrugged. "I can't think of any other way."

"Well, I can, so I won't stoop to beggin' from them until it's absolutely necessary." Wikker stood from his chair and nodded towards the mayor. "Sir, I'll make an announcement for volunteers to report to sector police precincts. We'll pull out all the stops, push 'em out of the populated areas and keep 'em out."

"Very well, get to it."

"Sir!" He said sharply, leaving the conference room.

Hart shook his head in disappointment, facing Reeve. "You're asking a lot of us."

"I know, but desperate times..."

"Yes..."

"Sir, what do you think of my plan?"

"It's a good dream, Reeve, but Wikker is right. We have to fix our own problems before we can start helping others."

"But...?"

"But it is a good idea. Shin-Ra left a gaping hole in our lives, made it impossible to function without them. It's rare to see someone able to get through that kind of shock intact. If we can place ourselves in Shin-Ra's place, we can slowly coax the people back into working and thinking for themselves. I can only hope that Shin-Ra wasn't so integrated in other cities, that they can get along better than us. We can't remain isolated and hope for modern society to survive." Hart nodded absently. "The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. The sooner we can put Shin-Ra behind us, the sooner we can get back to living normal lives."

"So would you give your approval to create it?"

"Eventually, but my opinion still stands. We need to fix Midgar first, then we can worry about everyone else. In the meanwhile, I want you and your team to continue working with Chief Varik. I also want you to keep searching for more people to help you out. I think, if past efforts are telling, that your men are going to be the defacto Soldier of your WRO organization."

Reeve smiled lightly. "I suppose we would."

"Was there anything else?"

"No, that was it." Reeve stood and offered his hand to the mayor. "Thank's for listening to my dream."

Hart accepted the gesture. "Sometimes dreams are all we can live on, Alex. You stay safe out there."

"You too."

_**---Server Room, Floor Three, Shin-Ra Company Tower**_

The interior of the room was mostly dark, illuminated by weak light from the single doorway and thoughtfully placed oil lamps. Supercomputers, standing like silent monoliths, were lined up in even rows and columns throughout, not counting those knocked over by a fallen section of ceiling. When once the room was loud with the din of cooling fans and humming electronics, only the rattle of a generator and one of the machines remained. Reno, slouched over the access terminal, blinked long and heavy at the ache forming behind his eyes. The screen was filled with scrambled code, and his fingers rattled across the keyboard in an effort to repair the damage and make up the lost programming on the fly. It had been a while since he had to put this talent to use, but after an hour it all felt like second nature and the process went steadily from there. He tired not to think about his overall progress, a few percentages and fractions of a percent, only to keep from giving up completely. Since realizing the grim future ahead of them, he had been forced to put his apathy aside so he could perform at his best. He didn't need Elena complaining about picking up his slack.

"This is taking too long," she commented from her prone spot at his left.

"You just had to remind me, didn't you?" Reno muttered.

"Are you getting anywhere?"

"I'm getting plenty of places. Of course at the rate I'm going we'll be drinking to the summer solstice by the time I'm done."

"So why are you still working on it?"

"Call it a case of futile determination." His hands separated from the keyboard, and Reno stood and stretched his arms and legs until he felt his back crick. He idly began cracking each of his knuckles, staring at the terminal screen and the lines of code begging to be rewritten. As much as he wanted to fix it all, prove the identity of their serial killer and his own cooperation, it really was a futile task. The program had over twenty thousand lines of code and he had barely broke past a thousand. He sighed, finally accepting that this was a useless effort. He reached out and flicked the two switches, turning the machine off with a stark whir of disks and fans.

Elena stood in surprise. "Why did you do that?"

"'Cause you're right for once, girlie, it is useless." He looked over at Rude, a cigarette illuminating his features just slightly. "We're done here."

Rude nodded and silently began moving to collect the lamps overhead, and he stooped to begin unplugging the generator from the terminal. Elena stood in silence, watching them gather their things they had brought three days earlier. She wanted to help, but didn't know enough about computers to help, so relented to being company in the shell of their former headquarters. She had looked around in shock when they stepped through the main doors and into the lobby, seeing so many familiar places and rooms buried in rubble or smashed beyond worth. All the might of the Shin-Ra government reduced to ruin, abandoned and forgotten. Her memories had boiled over, and she spent her time here reminiscing about the past and the people who took part in it. She looked up to the ceiling, knowing that above her were their offices, their lockers and showers, and down the hall was _his_ office, always there and preoccupied about their next mission. Was any of it still there, still locked in the past when life was straightforward and rational? It had only been four months since the crisis, four measly little months. It felt like years since she knew the defined comforts of being a Turk.

"_'Lena_."

"Huh?"

Reno eyed her with annoyance. "Get the lead out, we're goin'."

"Okay."

She accepted a handful of lanterns from Reno, the redhead carrying the rest while Rude managed the generator by it's handle and wheels. They walked out of the server room and towards the center of the building, passing by abandoned rooms full of personal computers and other mainframes that handled the many facets of Shin-Ra's empire. The hallways were surprisingly clear, having suffered little from the attacks by the Weapon or from meteor, bit it was still unwise to be there with several stories of rubble resting like a guillotine above them. As they reached the central plaza, they began taking the stairs down to the ground floor a step at a time, avoiding spots that groaned from damage. Sunlight illuminated the floor beneath them, shining in through the glass facade that fronted the whole lobby of the tower. It was getting into the late afternoon, the sky beginning to turn red and orange with the coming of the twilight. Normally they had to take this daunting route in darkness, so the three were happy to leave earlier. When they reached the ground floor and the earth beneath, Reno took a brisker pace to the front doors, eager to go. Elena didn't blame him for wanting to leave; they all had put this place behind, and coming back felt like stepping into a graveyard with the dead unburied.

Outside there was a brisk wind, the sky highlighted by cumulus and cirrus stretching from horizon to horizon. March was nearly over, and so meant the end of winter and a wet spring ahead. They needed the rain, not just because of trouble for clean water, but because this city needed to be cleaned of the filth that was caked everywhere, literally and figuratively; the rain last week was only a start. She liked the rain, liked the feeling of water rolling down her hair, coursing across her skin to pool beneath her and wash away the trouble that stuck to her heart. Reno didn't care for rain, and neither did Rude, giving them the perfect excuse to make her take first shift when posting a spot overnight. Elena gently put those memories back into their place, humored how it was so easy to fall into them.

They continued along the central avenue until it ended abruptly, exposing the fact that they were on the plates fifty meters over the earth. The concrete was torn and buckled, rebar and rubble stuck like a jagged wound to the ground at the world's edge. The view was spectacular, allowing them an uninterrupted view of the whole city and the plains beyond. The silence was profound. Without a word said, Rude walked over to the large stone pillar near the fracture and picked up the ropes that were tied around it. This was the most dangerous part of the journey to the tower, having to climb a static rope ladder to reach the place, then rappel down to leave. The elder Turk supervised the procedure, putting on harness and caribeeners and descender and double checking that all were snug and secure. When given his approval, they marched towards the edge of the plate and carefully lowered themselves over, then began the hair raising descent to the ground. Rude always went last, this time having fifty pounds extra weight to contend with hanging from his chest. Upon touching ground, they waited for him to flex and roll his cramped hands until he was content to carry on. The sun by then was nearly at the horizon, the sky bright with oranges and the clouds glowing pink and red. They continued down a small beaten path in the rubble, heading towards sector two and the police headquarters to return their borrowed equipment.

"What are we going to do now?" Elena asked Reno.

"I dunno," he groused. "We'll have to check with Reeve and let him know what's up. Probably gonna go back to patrolling the sectors again."

"You think he'd do that? Put us back with Varik, I mean. He's really been edgy lately."

"If I had to deal with fucks like Soldiers every day, so would I."

"But you _saw_ what he did to that one guy..."

"Ventilated his head. So what?"

"Don't you think he's going a little overboard?"

Reno laughed. "A little? The guy's a headcase with a short fuse, girlie. I'm expectin' him to crack and get escorted out in a straight jacket any day now."

Elena arched her eyebrows. "You think he's in that bad shape?"

"You don't need to think when you know."

"So you-"

"Hold it," Reno said in a commanding tone, stopped still.

"What-" Just as Elena asked, a muted explosion sounded from their left. "What was that?"

"Explosion." Reno answered quickly. He scanned the skyline and pointed when a noticeable cloud of black smoke soared out of sector three. Another whump hit them, louder than the first.

"Let's go!" He ordered, dropping the lanterns and tearing out across the mud and wreckage.

Elena hesitated at his rash decision, but once she saw Rude gently place the generator on the ground to follow, she knew they weren't going to wait for her to plead a reason. She put her lanterns down and pursued them.

As the three of them ran towards the source of the noise, smaller and more rapid gunshots echoed down the abandoned and ruined hovels on the uninhabited neighborhood. The explosions came less frequent, but more violent as they neared what seemed like a battlefield. After nearly ten minutes of running, they rounded a corner and found exactly what they heard. A scattered group of sector policemen were huddled by the smoldering wrecks of their vehicles, darting out only to fire their sidearms before ducking to avoid being targeted. Further out, standing in a dramatic line, were four men with their hands devoid of arms, one man holding his left hand up as if hailing the officers. Said man thrust his arm forward, and a fireball blossomed beneath one of the truck husks and tossed it onto it's side, throwing the officers like rag dolls backwards. The sector police used this distraction to open fire, but the bullets that struck their assailants only seemed to make them flinch or stumble rather than flail in pain.

"Soldiers!" Elena exclaimed.

"Duh," Reno scolded, extending the electrorod in his hand. "Come on!"

The redhead lead the way towards the outclassed officers, crouching as he neared their position. When he slid between two men and peered out to see the Soldiers clearly, they nearly jumped into the air in shock.

"Who the fuck-"

"Turk," Reno said in answer. "Here to help."

"Get down, then!" One officer admonished, pulling the redhead down to his knees. "Now why the hell are you out here?!"

"Charity work." He leaned over to Rude, who was waiting at his side. "What do you think?"

"That one has a high class fire materia, probably other types as well. He should be the first target."

"'Lena?"

Elena peered through a crack in the truck frame, looking at the four Soldiers as they postured and enjoyed themselves. The man on the far right as the largest of them, arms crossed in annoyance that he was held back. Next to him was the thinnest of them, hands in pocket, disinterested. The magician was next, laughing loud enough to hear between taking long gulps of what had to be ethers from a cache on his belt. The last was sharing in the humor, a hand at his waist in readiness to draw something from beneath the fold his his coat. She figured that only two of them, the mage and the muscled one, were really a threat. "They defer to the guy with the materia, so he must be the leader."

"Attack head on?"

"Of course not! That's suicide!"

"Just keepin' you on your toes. Rude, you're on me. Elena, move and snipe the leader from the side. He'll hang back. We'll go after he's down."

"Are-"

"Just do it!" He barked fiercely. "No arguments!"

She hesitated, but nodded; it was back to old shoes for the time being. "Okay."

Reno looked at the officers around him, each of them bearing confused expressions. He smirked. "You guys go help your comrades, this is work for professionals."

She walked past the stunned officers crouched over, trying to keep behind cover and out of sight. She got onto her knees and leaned her head out just enough to get a sight on the materia wielding Soldier. He was talking with the others, head turned and unaware of the persons he was tormenting. They were about thirty meters away, in the open without any cover except for the rubble of buildings to their sides. It would be an easy shot, but the second it would take for her to swing out and get her bearings might leave her exposed too long. She grit her teeth, knowing the risk had to be taken, and drew out the forty five caliber pistol from her waist holster. She crouched and readied herself to jump up and out, catching Reno's eye. With her free hand she silently counted down from three, feeling her whole body tense in expectation. At zero, her hands curled around the pistol grip and she spun out into the open, lining up the shot and getting a bead as the lead Soldier turned in shock, exposing his face and wide eyes. She fired four bullets before she had to stop as Reno and Rude closed with the incoming Soldiers. The first round caught him across the jaw in a burst of blood, tissue, and bone, snapping his head to the left. Despite the grave injury, his hand still rose in her direction, a building trickle of light coursing down the limb. Elena's second round hit his palm and went in and out, severing tendons and knocking the arm back into his shoulder. The third round went into that shoulder, shredding muscle and cracking itself into the humerus. The fourth and final round entered his mouth, disintegrating several teeth and ending with a fatal impact into the spine that broke it neatly in half. The Soldier fell to the ground like dead weight, numb and bleeding, eyes still wide in surprise.

Reno, in the lead, ducked and dodged to his left and extended his arm out to drive the tip of his electrorod into the gut of the muscular Soldier intent on taking off his head with a swung arm. The blow was fierce, and the man's face stretched taught in agony as the built electrical charge drove into his gut and blasted itself from tip to tip of his body. The Soldier went down, and Reno was there to deliver a downward swing of the rod to mash his cheek and again drive a burst of electricity into his head that left charred skin on his face. When he squirmed to get up, the Turk drove the rod into his neck and let the electrical charge wear down completely, enough that the man was no longer moving except the twitch of his fingers.

Rude, taking a slower pace, came close to the Soldier who was moving to bring both his fists against the thinner Turk's back. He drove his fist into the solar plexus, elicting a cry from his target before he used a palm heel hit to the back of his head to send the man down right next to the redhead's victim. Arms suddenly circled around his neck, hands grabbing his head and beginning to twist in an effort to snap his spine. Rude immediately grabbed the man's arms and pulled, trying to part them while keeping his neck rigid. A single gunshot rang out and he heard the man scream in pain, his arms falling slack. It was enough that he drove an elbow back, knocking the man away. He turned and punched the man across the jaw to the right, then followed to the left, and completed with a vicious right hook that sent the man stumbling to his hands and knees. Rude finished the task with a kick that twisted the man over in the air to land on his back, blood immediately drooling from his open mouth.

The fight took forty seconds from start to finish.

Elena hurried to meet with them, pistol still ready in both hands. When she slowed and looked at the Soldiers, each of them were either near death or incapacitated, no threat to their person. Reno was already fidgeting to remove the slot bracelet off the leader and checking for others, Rude keeping to the sideline with an eye on each of them.

"Shit," Reno swore, "that was close."

"What's up?" Elena asked him.

He held up the bracelet for her to see that six slots were filled with colored orbs. "Fire, aero, restore, heal, sense and Titan. This guy was fuckin' loaded."

She bristled at the types mentioned, especially at the summon. That monster would have been able to literally tear the earth apart and bury them and the whole block if he had the time to call for it's help. Even without the summoning orb the danger was much more pronounced. It was a good thing he didn't have the time to cast whatever spell he was preparing.

"Hey now." Reno grinned, walking over to one of the bodies. He prodded the person's shoulder with his shoe, elicting a grunt from him. "Somebody woke up."

Elena and Rude approached the redhead while he stooped and rolled the man onto his back. The Soldier's luminescent eyes drifted between the three of them, glazed over from the concussion he suffered. Reno snapped his fingers several times, catching the man's attention. "Yo."

"Fuckin' hell," the Soldier murmured.

"What's that? I didn't quite catch you there." Reno kicked the man's head, making his whole body curl in agitation. "Speak up if you got somethin' to say."

"I said _fuck you_, god damn it. Fuckin' Turks. Unbelievable."

"Looks like we have a fan," Reno snorted.

"Why did you attack those officers?" Elena asked, ignoring Reno's glare at her obvious question.

The Soldier shared the same expression. "Isn't it obvious, bitch? They're messin' with us in _our_ territory. You think we're just gonna let that fly?"

"This isn't your territory! This is public land, part of Midgar! You don't have any right to-"

"Shut it, girlie," Reno interrupted. He lowered his electrorod until the discharge prongs were firmly pressed into the Soldier's forehead. "Now, before you go and piss me off again, why don't you spill it and tell me why you're here."

"I already said why-"

"And I don't buy it!" Reno pushed harder, drawing identical pricks of blood. "Try the other one."

The Soldier glared at Reno, both pairs of mako eyes unwavering. He suddenly rolled onto his side, skin tearing and free of the rod before Reno could thumb the trigger and shock him. The Soldier continued to roll, extending arms and legs to propel himself to his feet, facing his oppressors. A hand reached into his overcoat and drew out a large handful of metal, a digit reaching up to clearly press something down on top of the cylinder. Reno reacted first, lifting his arms to protect his face; Elena and Rude followed suit, but too slowly to do any good. The Soldier tossed the object up, and it exploded a second later with enough force to throw all four of them several meters away and shatter the few glass windows left in the buildings nearby. The sound reverberated several times, echoing over itself until it was like distant thunder. The smoke and fire rose in a billowing cloud, dissipating as it ascended. The Soldier was propped against a wall, body shredded with shrapnel, lifeless eyes staring at the ground. Of the Turks, all three were lying prone on the broken asphalt.

Rude was the first to stir, sunglasses missing to reveal the shock and surprise in his eyes. He looked around to assess the situation, then saw his comrades in similar trouble. Ignoring the blood and bruises on his person, he moved hands and knees to Elena's side and gently patted her cheek to rouse her. "Elena. Elena. _Elena_."

Her eyes blinked, focused on him. There was a large laceration reaching from her eyebrow to within her hairline, oozing blood. "Rude?"

"I'm here," he said.

"How did...how did we?"

"I don't know."

"Barrier," a third voice added, Reno's. The redhead was just inching himself up to a sitting position. "Thank God for barrier."

Elena leaned over to look at Reno, stunned. "You had barrier materia?"

"Yep. Just in case. Seemed like a good idea."

"Why didn't you use it earlier?" She demanded in a louder voice.

He shook his head while trying to stand. "Didn't think we'd need it. I figured they'd go down easy."

"You idiot." Elena laughed to diffuse the fear. She reached up for Rude, getting a hand to stand up. They looked at one another in numb shock, then finally at the sector police as they emerged from hiding to approach the scene. They looked just as surprised that they survived the blast, even more so that they took down all four Soldiers on their own.

"You guys okay?" The leading officer asked.

All three Turks glared their response.

_**---Somewhere In Sector One**_

"So," Occisor tilted the dagger in his hand, scrutinizing both blade and man for any indication of weakness, "how are your injuries healing?"

The figure didn't deign to reply, choosing instead to keep his eyes lowered and unfocused on the concrete floor of his ward. The Soldier waited patiently for the man to respond, knowing he would after a time, knowing that he knew he wouldn't leave until he had his fill of a two-way conversation. He was only mildly disappointed that his lessons and his insistence in forgoing senseless arguments hadn't taken root with the prisoner, even after he admitted to that truth two days ago. Occisor watched, though, kept an eye on his posture and his expression, the little muscular ticks and the rhythmic pulse of his breathing. It was nearly a full minute until the person closed his eyes in defeat, tongue moistening his lips in prelude to words.

"Better," the prisoner replied.

"Good to hear." Occisor picked at his thumbnail with the blade, showing his obvious lack of fear regarding his prize. "You've considered my offer today, haven't you?"

"No."

The Soldier shook his head. "You know it's the only way you will leave this place alive."

"Don't care," the prisoner added. "Better off dead."

"Which you aren't, something else you know. Such angst is unbecoming of you, Yukio."

Yukio looked up at the Soldier, shifting his legs to sit properly. Being chained to the ground, he was unable to stand upright unless hunched over; his injuries were severe enough that the one time he tried it nearly made him faint from dizziness. The burns and bruises and his broken ribs still ached, so he normally remained flat on the ground to alleviate the pain, resting and recovering his strength. Occisor's daily talks were the only human contact he had except for twice daily platters of food and changing his chamber pot. Despite asking, even with wordplay clever enough to amuse the elder Soldier, he had no idea where he was or whether any of his men had survived the brief but violent firefight. He had since came to terms that they were probably all dead, that he was saved only for his amusement, that he wouldn't ever see the sky feel the sun again, only the eventual pain of death. If nothing else could be said, his captor was fond of drawing out such drama despite his disapproval of it.

"I've all the reason I need," he explained.

"Reason doesn't equate necessity. You're a Soldier. Whatever happened to the aloofness of the Soldier code?"

"_Fuck_ the code. Eleven people died because of me. You can't shake that guilt so easily."

"And that's what's been troubling you all this time? That your men acted under your orders and gave their lives for your mission, your dream? I can see why you never graduated to first class _or_ held a command." Occisor regarded the prisoner down his nose, finally homing the dagger to the sheath at his waist. "I don't see how this makes my offer unacceptable."

"I won't help you."

"You wouldn't be."

"Inaction is just the same. I won't ignore this atrocity you're planning."

"Is it an atrocity to forge order from chaos?"

"You want to take over the world the same as Shinra did."

"And you've lived in that peace for most of your life. Don't deny the good that Shin-Ra brought to the world. Power, stability, protection-"

"At the cost of freedom!" Yukio barked, raising his voice for the first time since his capture.

This took Occisor back from his expectations. At last he had an insight to Yukio's resistance, and with that, a piece of leverage to use against him. A grin creased his lips. "What freedom do you lack?"

"My father once told me something. He said, 'You can have peace or you can have freedom. Don't ever expect to have them both.' I believe him."

Occisor frowned. He was beginning to feel his patience slip with the Soldier, tired of constantly having his logic spat back at him for emotional ideals or childish denial. He had hoped to bring the man around to see just what he planned for the world, how it would benefit everyone and restore the balance left in Shin-Ra's absence. Before he could speak a retort, a click and whine of hinges echoed through the large warehouse, catching his attention. Three individuals stepped inside and approached the two. Occisor felt a nervous tick tug at the corner of his eye, wondering how it was that his men always seemed nearby when it seemed that the discussions with his prisoner were failing beyond recovery. The trio stopped short of their leader by several steps, holding themselves at casual attention.

"Your mission?" Occisor asked.

"Not in front of _him_," the rightmost person answered.

"Speak," he repeated sternly. Ritter was always resentful that he allowed an outsider to their division to overhear their plans and operations, especially someone that was determined to oppose them. Xia and Feral both kept silent regarding the unusual forgoing of protocol; he suspected they also wanted Yukio dead, but kept it to themselves and followed orders like proper soldiers.

Ritter nodded. "The objective was completed without incident. We were able to monitor the trouble in Three and spread word to our brothers nearby. The sector police have nearly all of Three under control, but they haven't moved out from the borders. Hopefully they won't widen their investigation much further since _he_ was caught."

"Yes. A shame we never could truly convert the man. He would have been a great asset."

"He was a fucking lunatic who only tolerated us because he thought we stood for natural order," Ritter argued, glaring at Yukio. "And now this. You can't win everyone's loyalty, you know."

"I don't need to _win_ anything, I only enlighten and show the truth. People will have to accept it on their own."

"Clearly he won't, so why bother trying?"

"He is an exceptional case."

"You _know_ what exceptions lead to."

"Spare me your accusations," Occisor said. He turned to face Ritter, hands on his hips and noticeably close to the dagger at his waist. "My tolerance for them wanes as of late."

"You'd better get used to it," Ritter promised, "even first class make mistakes."

"Go," Occisor said, dismissing them just the same.

The three saluted their superior, then turned away and left the building. As the door creaked shut, Occisor heard a smug chuckle come from his prisoner. He looked back and saw Yukio grinning, mako blue eyes peering out from his disheveled hair. There wasn't a need to ask why, for Occisor knew exactly how badly the man wanted to prove himself and show what a failure his plan was turning out to be. To a degree he was right, trying to force Soldiers intoxicated with freedom to conform back to their models during their time in Shin-Ra's army was a challenge, but the rewards were rich and tempting. Problems and competitors cropped up, but that was the nature of the code; Occisor had more than one occasion to put down rebellion by his own hand, proving his prowess and reinforcing his status as commander of the hundred and first. Ritter was likely to be the next, as would anyone stupid enough to put their lot in with him. Such culling could hurt the numbers of the division, but it ensured the strength and loyalty of the remaining; good genetics applied just as aptly to humans.

He turned away from Yukio and departed from another door, leaving the prisoner to laugh in solitude.


	14. Fourteen

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

**: The Past Concluded :**

_**---Zizi's, Sector Two**_

The café had been built after the crisis was over, one of a rare few in the whole of Midgar. Zizi, the owner, rich and stubborn and senseless by trade, had spent nearly her whole net worth in order to recreate her restaurant that had been destroyed after plate five had fallen. Sadly, her efforts were rewarded with meager scrapings from retailers in Junon Harbor and Kalm, striking the woman with the blunt truth of reality. She defied this, however, choosing instead to build and accumulate vast debts to firms throughout the continent with the promise of a quick turnover in profits. By the time she opened the doors to her classy café, a nervous tick developed from the number of calls she received demanding payment, but her smile was locked open to entice customers inside and loosen their pursestrings. Despite logic, certainly all predictions, her establishment became a local favorite of the population who remained and wanted a taste of finery in an otherwise rotten and broken world, and eventually the go-to destination of the upper crust and their pretenders. Her success went on as her debts faded into memory and profits turned to improvements and sympathetic philanthropy for the neighborhood without. She donated to companies who agreed to build nearby, and soon the streets were paved and clean, the buildings repaired and turned to apartments and markets. It was evident that her restaurant had become the cornerstone for the greatest image of Midgar's renewal, a counter-argument to the creation of Edge City. Stoke considered this as he headed towards the famous eatery, witness to the process of change from start to finish. He wondered how long it would last now that war seemed all but inevitable between the rogue Soldiers and the new city government.

The lounge was mostly empty since it had just opened for business, only two men in suits having a margarita luncheon in a corner table. Stoke walked to the bar proper and sat, placing his cowboy hat onto the adjacent stool to placehold it for his visitor. The bartender approached and he ordered a gin and tonic, only to be disappointed as he was told that there was no gin available due to shortages. Instead he took the keep's recommended vodka on ice. He took a long sip, unused to the bitter cold and warmth that rolled down his throat; he had always preferred sweeter alcohols. He supposed it was a good thing since he didn't want to be drunk when the man arrived. He checked his wristwatch, noting it was only a few more minutes until half past noon, time enough to relax and consider what exactly he could offer someone who had held an office job since the crisis.

On time, a new person entered the lounge, eyes darting quickly to inspect the room and it's occupants. Stoke appraised the new arrival, pursing his lips when his gaze met similar mako blue eyes. The man was dressed in a spotless suit and tie, hair short and parted neatly, face clean shaven, looking more like a corporate professional than a trained killer. The man looked at Stoke with minor distaste at his own shoulder length hair and beard, tatty jacket and street clothes. Stoke reached down and picked up his hat, resting it firmly on his brow, inviting and daring the stranger to sit. The man hesitated, but moved and sat down.

"Stoke," he said as he offered a hand in respect, "second class, one hundred forty fifth."

"Eberhard, first class, one hundred and eight division," Eberhard replied.

"Glad you decided to show. I figured you might just ignore me."

"Which I will unless you get to the point."

Stoke bristled at the comment, feeling insulted. "No need to be hasty, friend."

"My time could be better spent."

"Hey. Don't be a prick. Just hear me out."

Eberhard waved off the waiting bartender, who looked all to pleased to be as far away from the Soldiers as possible. "Very well."

"Alright. I heard rumors about a first class Soldier workin' in the government, so I did a little pickin' and found you. You know what's goin' out in the sectors, right?"

"Yes."

"Well then, you know as well as I that it means the shit's gonna hit the fan soon, an' I don't expect they'll let us sit by in the meanwhile. They're gonna either recruit us or kill us, whichever they think's best, and I'm frankly tired of it. A friend of mine, he tried to gather us together to make sure these psychos don't get the upper hand, but we got waxed by some fucker named Occisor before it got off the ground. Me and my ladyfriend are all that survived. I've been spyin' on that bastard's operations since, and it's lookin' bad. If we don't get ourselves ready, he's gonna walk all over us and god knows what else."

"So you want me to join your side and fight them."

Stoke lifted a hand. "Let me finish! I know we can't go it alone, that got thrown in our face once already. What I want is for you to get word to the mayor and tell it like it is. Tell him that there's plenty of us out there who wanna help, but you gotta call off those fuckin' sector police in Three. Right now the guys I've met all think the government can screw itself, an' if Occisor gets to 'em, they'll follow him heart and soul for a Soldier only world. You an' I know that ain't ever gonna work."

"Mayor Hart already knows about the danger posed by our rogue comrades, but not regarding this development regarding this Occisor person. You are certain of his intent?"

"Buddy, he didn't waste our flat and kill my friends because he was bored. That fucker is out to take over the city. Hell, he'd go for the whole world if given the chance, make himself the next Shin-Ra."

"No need to exaggerate. I do know the desires of our comrades, and likely much better than yourself."

"So you agree with me, then? You'd do somethin' about it?"

"That depends on certain things. You throw about generalities easily, Stoke. How many Soldiers have you personally met that are willing to enlist in a fight against their comrades?"

"Lesee...there's probably twenty, twenty five who're ready right now. If I had the time there's another ten or so I could convince, but time's not playing by our tune."

"How long would it take to bring word to these twenty five? To assemble them for integration into the city government?"

"I'd probably need a day or two, maybe three. Depends too on how keen the sector police are to work with us."

"Sector police won't be a concern."

"No?"

"No. An elite unit under the mayor's guidance has been created for this job. I would assume that any Soldier who would enlist would be part of it."

"An elite unit, huh?" Stoke narrowed his eyes. "Just like Soldier was."

"Similar. Currently the unit is headed by three Turks and one of the mayor's aides. There has been a rumor that this unit would be expanded on to encompass the demilitarization of known Shin-Ra installations and to provide aid to cities that require it."

"Sounds pretty serious."

"But mere rumor between departments. Your station within the unit would be assured, but anything else is mere speculation."

"So...?"

"I will inform the mayor about your proposition. The number you contacted me by can reach you?"

"It's my phone, so yeah."

"Very well. I will speak to him regarding this and call you with his answer. Was there anything else?"

"Nah, man, thanks a lot!" Stoke again offered his hand with a genuine smile. "Just a personal question if you'd oblige."

"Okay."

"How in the hell can you stand workin' in an office all day long in a fuckin' suit?"

"How can you stand to work in filthy clothing on a daily basis?" Eberhard replied in a friendly manner. He stood and tugged on his coat. "I will call you soon."

Stoke considered the man's odd answer as he left, then figured it out with a groan. It was a textbook definition. _'Clothing makes the man is an accurate statement. Dress a soldier in a suit and he is treated as a suit, allowing him freedoms previously denied. This is a key detail in the art of subterfuge and urban espionage.'_ He took out his wallet and dropped a ten piece onto the counter and stood to leave, reaching for his phone. He speed-dialed the only number that he left in the list, all the others belonging to dead men.

"H'lo, Stoke," Lari said.

"Looks like we're in business. Seems like the mayor's mostly up to speed 'bout what's going, we're just gonna have to wait and see if he'll let us on."

"Thank god," she exhaled in relief. "Did you tell him everything?"

"Not everything, no, just enough to make it worth his while to pick us up."

"So what're we gonna do 'till then, eh?"

"Take it easy, I suppose. Not like we got much of a choice."

"Fine by me. I'll be at Isu's."

"Don't get yourself drunk already, girl, we gotta be ready to find those guys if we get the go-ahead."

"Bugger your guys, I'm dry as sand 'ere."

"Lari," Stoke said sternly.

She sighed loudly. "Fine fine, I'll restrain myself. Later."

Stoke grunted, putting his phone away and opening the door to the outside. Lari had taken a bad habit of pushing her drinking schedule ahead by hours as of late, going through most of the day either drunk or too sick to do more than gripe and complain. At first he didn't care about her means of grieving, but when he noticed one day that she left behind all her knives and her sword in their shared motel room, that was the telling sign that this was more than a funk. He never saw her unarmed. Never. It was a cardinal sin in the Soldier code to be so exposed, especially since he knew that Lari was built for swordplay and little else in combat. Since then he had been ragging on her to keep sober, having to follow suit himself as to set an example. He was a natural lush, so the alcohol didn't bother him as much, but with Lari it made her weepy and turned her bandy limbs to jelly. The last thing he wanted was to try and sober her up in a hurry if things went south.

He was about ready to leave for his room when someone on the avenue caught his attention. A man was slouched against one of the walls by an alley, arms limp between his legs and hand clutching a bottle in a brown bag, expression waxy and eyes glazed over as if genuinely wasted. However, his head was still tilted up enough that a casual flick of the eyes would let him see anyone on the street. Stoke quickly got his legs moving and began walking in his direction, hands in pockets as he went along. As he closed with the person, he kept his eyes locked ahead as to not wander. When they finally were next to one another, he looked out of the corner of his eyes and saw that the wino was returning the favor from beneath dark eyebrows. The contact lasted a half second, but it told him all he needed to know. He continued along, muscles tense just in case the man was here to do more than observe. No one hid their alcohol in a bag these days, and no industry could make a contact lens strong enough to normalize a Soldier's mako eyes. It seemed like Occisor was stalking his prey as well.

-----

"Nice going, kid," Tetra said.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch."

She punched his head lightly. "Watch it, Yan."

Yan scrambled to his feet in a rage, swinging his bottle for Tetra's head. She grabbed his wrist and spun him farther into the alley, yanking down to spin him over and onto his back. The bottle fell with a muted tinkle of breaking glass, contained in the bag. He recovered quickly, but not quick enough to avoid her thrown punch that mashed his nose and knocked him down onto his ass again. His hands grabbed his nose as he hissed in pain. Tetra crossed her arms and stared at the boy. It never ceased to amaze her that someone so young and so pig-headed managed to get indoctrinated into Soldier and be allowed to carry on after the crisis. He was tall and muscled, but he was still a teenager and full of piss and vinegar at anyone who thought to criticize him. It was unbelievable that command paired her with him for this mission, he was completely unsuited for it.

"Ah, you bitch! I think you broke my fucking nose again!"

"And I'll do it as many times as it takes to straighten you out. What the hell were you thinking? He knew you were there!"

"How else was I supposed to watch him, huh?"

"God, is there anything in your head except testosterone?"

"Shut up!"

Tetra growled in distaste, moving to yank the kid up by the collar of his tee shirt. He flailed at her to get away, then began walking down the alley in silence. She stood her ground. "Get back here."

He flipped her the bird and continued.

That was the last straw. Tetra stalked forward and grabbed his shoulder, then threw him against one of the brick walls before he could respond. She put her forearm against his throat and pressed hard, choking him where he stood. He struggled to get loose, prying at her arm and clawing with his fingernails, but she kept upping the pressure to get him to calm down. She waited until his eyes looked up at her, anger and fear mixed in them, before easing up slightly. "Listen, you fucking _listen to me_. I will _kill you_ here and now if you don't get your shit together. We've got a op to do, and I'm not going to let you screw this up for me. You do _exactly_ what I say and that's it. Got it?"

He managed to nod. Tetra let him go and stepped back, the kid gasping for air. "Good. Now get yourself together, we're moving."

"Where to?" He gasped.

"We still have to tail that guy," she explained. "Now quit complaining. I'm going to follow him, and you follow me at a distance. Don't try to catch up with me. All we need to do is see where he goes and report back. I don't want to spend the whole day being led 'round in circles because he knows we're tailing him."

Yan shoved his hands into his pockets. "Fine."

Tetra walked to the edge of the alleyway, looking out to the street with her arms loosely crossed, and waited. She turned her head only slightly. "Wait one minute, then go."

"Right," Yan muttered.

She strode out to the sidewalk and began heading in the Soldier's general direction, leaving Yan on his own. She glanced around at the people on the street, none of them sporting that ridiculous shit-kicker hat the Soldier wore like a neon sign. She continued ahead in a brisker pace, knowing that she had a limited chance to catch his trail on the sidestreets and alleys that littered the neighborhood. She had barely been out for fifteen seconds before rapid footfalls caught her ear, a loud voice screaming her name. Her head turned back in time to see Yan bolt out of the alley, turning to run to her side, eyes alight in panic. Barely instants apart, a loud crack sounded from within the alley and Yan's throat exploded in a spray of bright blood, the boy spinning down to collapse onto his hands and knees. Tetra felt her muscles freeze in shock, unable to move on instinct as her mind reeled at the sight of the young man she'd just berated reach up with a hand and clasp itself to his neck, blood running over fingers and onto the black street. A second gunshot rang out, and this time Yan was shoved facefirst onto the ground, a smaller red welt blossoming at the intersection of spine and skull. He didn't move afterwards.

She started forward, but training finally rose up from murky thoughts and froze her again. The gunman hadn't stepped out of the alley, and everyone else on the street was running away in eerie silence. There was no way that she could go to Yan's side and save his life, or even see if there was a life to save, without putting herself right into the gunman's hands. She knew it had to be the Soldier they were supposed to follow, that in the minute she wasted arguing gave him the time to circle the building and become the stalker rather than the prey. Now he was toying with her, seeing if her training as Soldier could override the natural impulse to help another human being in need. Tetra cursed under her breath, arms shaking in contradictory wants.

"D-Damnit!" She cried out.

Like springs finally released, her legs churned forward and her torso lowered itself, hands out to grasp the young man from the ground and whisk him to safety. There would only be a two second window of opportunity, and the Soldier couldn't have anything more than a pistol on hand since nothing he wore could conceal greater arms. He had been lucky to hit Yan on his neck, right on vital arteries. She would get shot, but he would have to aim for center of mass, and that wasn't immediately lethal. He couldn't possibly hit her vitals while moving so fast. As soon as her eye saw down the length of the alley, when the blur in the middle began to focus into a human shape, her leg spasmed in pain as he shot her ankle and shattered the joint and tendons. Tetra fell on top of Yan, disoriented as her chin slammed onto the ground. She reached for the pistol in the jacket holster, but another shot both knocked it out of her hand and also mangled her fingers. Mouth agape in pain, she could only watch as the Soldier stalked forward, leveled the revolver so the maw of the barrel aligned itself with her sight, and banished her consciousness with a bang like the end of the world.

-----

Barely a half hour had gone by when the last man was stationed and the whole neighborhood was under lockdown, passage forbidden unless identification was shown under threat of arrest or lethal response. The population within the zone were in both shock and outrage that not only had a double killing happened in their elite surroundings, but that the sector police dared prevent them from going about their daily business in peace. Arguments were cut short, all complaints forwarded to the mayor's office. In the street outside of Zizi's a gathering of officers stood awaiting orders while an equally large group of citizens milled around in morbid fascination or to jeer them for interrupting their lives. The officers all kept stoic expressions, waiting for the arrival of their chief so he could personally dictate orders. Ever since they put and end to the serial killer, the 'empty sector killer' as the public branded him, he had become more and more involved in the daily going ons of the patrol for rogue Soldiers, leaving the beurocratic work of the precinct to his few assistants. It was also noticeable that he was growing more and more intolerant of mistakes or whatever he defined as insubordination.

He arrived, face taught with agitation and exhaustion from another night awake to coordinate a midnight patrol of sector three, and hardly set foot onto the ground before his voice boiled over the conversations of officers and citizens alike. "This isn't a woman's social club, you idiots!"

"Sir, we were-"

"Coolin' your heels on the job? I can see that." He stalked over and inserted himself into the center of the officer's grounds, looking at them with his usual scowl. "Why hasn't anyone told those spectators to get back home and let us work in peace?"

"One of them wants to talk with you," someone explained. "He wants an explanation."

"An' you couldn't do it?"

"He wanted to hear it from someone with _authority_."

Varik grinned. "What, he think's he can cow us like politicians? Bring me to him."

The officer nodded and led his chief to meet with the men and women waiting just outside the roped off area where the dead Soldiers lay. Varik didn't need to be escorted, immediately spying a well to do individual in smart clothes that people gravitated towards. The person's arms never rested, gesticulating as he talked with those nearby, drawing their approvals. It was clear that this man took it on himself to act as defacto spokesman for the locals.

"One of you wanted to talk with me," Varik shouted, interrupting them. "I'm chief of the sector police, so let's have it."

The charismatic man turned, revealing the sort of broad frame and squared jaw appearance of a natural born leader. "You're responsible for the whole of the sector police?"

"As whole as it is, yeah."

"Then I'd like an explanation as to why you allowed this atrocity to occur in our neighborhood. Why have you drawn away so many officers from their rightful posts here to hunt some vague danger in another sector? Crime has been increasing here, as has the number of unmentionables who wander openly without fear of reprisal. Now they grow so bold as to commit murder in this peaceful place. Do you plan on doing nothing to prevent this?"

"Do you plan on puffing your chest out like some mockingbird and hope it scares me? I'm doin' what's necessary to make sure that we don't get overwhelmed by crazy Soldiers out to fuck us over for their delusions of grandeur."

"Who do you mean by 'us'? I must have it wrong, because you clearly aren't thinking of us by concentrating our protection in a single location."

"And who here was hurt because of it? Correct me, but all I see are two dead Soldiers."

"The mere fact that such violence can occur here is pain enough! What's to prevent other such Soldiers from killing lawful citizens if they should happen to get in their way? What are you going to do to ensure this doesn't happen again?"

"Oh, I'm workin' plenty hard to stop that, believe me. It's a matter of statistics. Right now sector three has the highest number of Soldier related attacks and deaths, so that's where we operate. Anywhere else and we're not as effective. Simple."

"You cannot operate a city based on percentages!"

"Sure you can."

"You jest. History as proven-"

"That's I'm right, your rhetoric or whatever is wrong, the end. I won't argue facts with you, so let's get to the quick of things. You shit your pants because _heaven forbid_, violence that has been plaguing every other sector impeded in your little piece of heaven. Tell me why I should care?"

The man's face began turning a shade of red in shock. "This...this neighborhood is an icon of Midgar's prosperity and revitalization! If you allow these miscreants to desecrate this place, it would devastate the city moral. If even our community is unsafe, then where can people go for refuge from such horror? You cannot allow the whole of Midgar to be put under the shadows of fear and violence and expect it to recover, it cannot happen."

"Who made me responsible for recovering this city?"

"It's the heart of your occupation!"

"No, my job is to catch bastards like those Soldiers an' lock them up."

"Now-"

"Quiet!" Varik barked. "Look...what's your name?"

"Engel."

"Look, Engel, I don't care how offended you are by this. _Why_ should you be an exception? You never answered my question."

"We represent the businesses and leaders who will be the pillars of the new Midgar. If we leave for safer venues, then this city will never rise from the ashes."

"And will you? I mean, it's not like you haven't had four months to pack up and leave. Why haven't you?"

"Because this is our home."

"Right, and you'll stay here, so don't waste your time threatening to leave, you'd have done it if you meant to. What you really mean is you want everyone else to do the work so you can just live like meteor never happened. Tough shit. You're gonna have to put in your bit like everyone else."

"You can't simply put us out and expect us to defend ourselves on our own!"

"Yes I can. Everyone else has been, why shouldn't you? You're a big man, I'm sure you can handle a thug on your own. All of you look tough enough to fight. What's to stop you from policing your own interests and take care of your own? Hell, I think the reason these Soldiers came here was because you just sit on your fat asses and don't lift a finger for yourselves. They'll walk all over you and all you do it pitch a fit and cry for help."

"Are you insinuating that we _asked_ for this?" Engel hissed.

"You didn't. Then again, you never told them to stay out."

"Monster!"

"Yes! I, monster," Varik thrust an accusing finger right at Engel's face, "because I _dare_ to make you accountable for your own fucking mistakes! You could have chased them off, but you chose to run like fuckin' cowards! Instead of protecting your little spot of paradise, you just let whoever you like waltz on through and complain when they act out of line. You dug yourself into this shithole, and I'm too busy to help you get out. You can do it on your own."

He turned and left Engel to gape, his entourage finally silent. The chief grinned wide, content to finally let loose some of the frustrations he felt at a deserving target. Sometimes it felt like the whole city was helpless to defend themselves, that he and his men had to carry the whole weight of the operation on their shoulders. With volunteers beginning to come to his doorstep, men and women who had some talent rather than naive enthusiasm, it was getting easier to quarantine neighborhoods to enact his search and destroy policy. Still, it was a battle that was trying even his own limits, and he had to continue on with a strong front for their sake. If he let himself slip, it would fall exponentially down the ranks and shatter their unity and belief in victory. He wasn't about to let Shin-Ra ruin them from the grave.

"Uh...hey! Um, hey, sir!" Somebody called out.

He glanced back and saw someone jogging to him, dressed in fine clothing and a black apron. The person stopped several feet short, uncertain.

"What?" He asked.

"Sir, I...um, I think I know who did this."

_**---Somewhere In Sector One**_

The boot came racing up, colliding with Yukio's chin in such a precise move that it threw him upwards and onto his back as the chains binding his wrists snapped taut. Ritter approached the prisoner and stomped his foot onto his chest and leaned, putting weight against his ribs and forcing the man to scramble to get a breath of air. The Soldier leaned on his knee with both hands, looking down at Yukio with a sorrowful expression like a parent scolding a child. Disappointment was foremost in his mind. The prisoner stared back at him with all the fury his malnourished frame could offer, which was hardly a drop compared to the rage that Ritter felt at this breach in security and trust. To think that his commander spent more time worrying about this trash than their plan made him feel sick. With reports that the sector police activity was increasing, it seemed like their plan had to be streamlined even sooner than he would like. If he were to have any chance at besting Occisor and winning the leadership of the new order, it had to start here.

"You must mean a lot to the commander," Ritter addressed the prisoner. "He's never taken such an interest in another Soldier he wasn't hoping to score some ass from. He isn't having his way with you, is he?"

"That's sick!" Yukio growled.

Ritter sighed in relief. "Woo, that takes a load off. I didn't want to think our boss had the hots for guys."

"Disappointed?"

Ritter snarled out loud. He lifted up his other leg and stomped onto Yukio's hand, crushing the digits and putting his weight entirely on it. The prisoner squeezed his eyes shut and held in his anguish. Ritter reached into his coat and drew out a shotgun with the barrel and stock sawed off to make it compact, lowered it to the prisoner's face and put pressure on the trigger.

"Say it again," Ritter dared his victim.

"You're going to lose. Occisor isn't going to let you live for plotting against him."

"What makes you say that?"

"Don't insult my intelligence, Ritter, I know you hate Occisor as much as I do. Everyone knows it. It's clear on your face."

"And your point?"

"No Soldier carries a grudge, they find the source and destroy them. You want power and he's going to take it all, and you won't stand to play second fiddle to anyone. It's how you managed to get to first class before I did."

"That's because you're too green to do what it takes to command. That's why your pathetic insurrection failed."

"It wasn't because of you, though."

Ritter scowled, moved the barrel of the shotgun and fired it into Yukio's shoulder. The sound was terribly loud in the warehouse, but neither men flinched from it. Yukio barely registered the pain, his shoulder torn apart in a bloody blend of muscle and flesh and lead shot, wisps of smoke trailing from the tear in his shirt. His eyes never wavered from Ritter's. Ritter raised the shotgun and pumped the next round into place, the spent cartridge flipping out to dance on the ground with a tiny tinkle of metal.

"Do you want to die?"

The question was neither mocking or threatening. Yukio felt it appropriate to answer with the same. "He will never let me leave this place."

"Then...?"

"No."

Ritter sighed, lowering the shotgun. "Too bad."

Just before he could squeeze the trigger, something in the corner of his eye caught his attention and made him hesitate. By the time he got a good look at what it was, the airborne chair slammed into his shoulder and head and knocked him off his feet and onto the floor. The impact left stars in his eyes, nerves on fire and half numb with the pain. His eyes rolled up to look for where the hell a chair had come from, noting the bulky frame of Occisor running into the open area to attack while he was distracted. A metallic clatter came from his right, and his eyes looked there to see his shotgun aimed right at his head, Yukio behind it with cold eyes still staring at his.

"How-"

The shotgun went off, and the hundred lead pellets tore his face to ribbons and sank past spongy eyes and nose to shred his brain up like jelly. The blood sprayed out like it had exploded, covering Yukio's hands and face and the floor around them in gore. Yukio blinked several times, then used his free hand to wipe the blood out of his eyes. Shock was still settled in his head, unaware that someone had to have thrown that chair and more content that he had the sense to act and reverse the odds. When footsteps kicked some scrap behind him, he rolled over and had the shotgun aimed at Occisor's face, the Soldiers expression carefully neutral. They remained that way for several seconds before Occisor crossed his arms and shook his head.

"He was too impulsive," He said as eulogy.

"Too arrogant," Yukio added, aim unwavering. "A common trait here, it seems."

"Put that down, Yukio, or shoot me. Don't hesitate like he did."

He lowered the shotgun, but kept it in his hands. Occisor walked past him to Ritter's body and stooped, reaching behind his neck to undo the catch for his dogtags and settling them into a pocket. He then walked over and picked up the wood chair, stood it upright, and sat down as if nothing else was different about their meeting.

"Your wound?" He asked.

"It's nothing."

"It's bleeding profusely, not to mention laden with shot, but that leans in my favor. It's time to choose, Yukio, right now."

"I won't help you."

"You just did my ridding me of that usurper."

Silence.

"You understand the repercussions of both choices. Do you fear them that much that you refuse to move on? Perhaps that is your fatal flaw: hesitation."

"Just as much as it is yours, Occisor."

"Enough," he demanded. "Yes or no."

"I will not-"

"_Yes or no_?"

They stared at one another in silence, but both were loud and outspoken as they thought on past arguments and verbal battles, imagining all the discussion they needed, stretching out the moment as long as it could hold. The seconds turned into minutes as they battles for control of the situation, neither willing to break it off. However, eventually Yukio's head sagged down in defeat. He lifted it back with exhaustion and pain in his eyes and opened his mouth to answer.

_**---A Deeper Green**_

The evening hour at A Deeper Green was busier than usual, tending to a group of laborers who were working to scavenge materials from the abandoned apartments in the neighboring block. They all chose to commandeer several tables and gather them into a corner, ordering round after round of beer and making a loud nuisance of themselves that almost motivated the barkeep to cut them off, except they tipped well for construction workers. The remaining patrons kept to the bar proper and the opposite end of the room, creating a noticeable no-man's-land right at the entrance. Sitting in this place, in the middle of everyone's line of sight, were two Turks in their blue uniform jackets, hands fidgeting with shotglasses and a bottle of nearly expired Mideel limited reserve whiskey; when studied, the patrons who did glance at them did so as often to see how quickly they imbibed such a rare liquor.

Reno took hold of the square bottle, hesitating a second to make sure he had a grip on it, and poured a healthy measure of the whiskey out for himself and for Elena. They lifted up their shots and gently tapped them together.

"Salut!" Both shots went down as one.

"One more, that's all we got," Reno slurred, again pouring out a shot, this time ensuring they got even amounts of the bottle before it ran dry. Since Rude had opted to forgo the usual night of drinking, Reno felt willing to spend well on a rare liquor that would be appreciated. Despite Elena's protest that she wasn't an alcoholic, she knew just as much about the worth of a drink as he did. He lifted the glass with a smirk, noting that she seemed hesitant to take another so soon. She followed through, though, matching his grin. Reno nodded. "Salut!"

Both shots went down, and Elena reached out for a small cup and drank a mouthful of the chaser. "Spicy be gone!"

"Oh ho, I thought you didn't need a chaser," Reno jibbed.

"Fuck you," Elena retorted, "it doesn't mean a thing."

"It means you can't hold your liquor, girlie, that's what."

"Big deal."

"So you admit defeat?"

"No," she said brashly, "just 'cause I had one doesn't mean I had any less than you."

"Those count against you, girlie, you know that!"

"No they don't!"

"That's how it's always been!"

"I call bullshit, you never told me 'bout that rule."

"Sure I did. It's...look, even if I never did, it's a _rule_, so you gotta follow it."

"But you can't change 'em in the middle of things, it's not fair!"

"Fair 'r not, it's-"

"Fine, fine, it counts, then. Whatever."

"So you're gonna hafta take another shot to keep up with me."

"Oh god no, I'm startin'...I'm feelin' sick already."

"Sick? It's only the first bottle of the night," he groused.

"I'm already feelin' pretty wasted, Reno. Let's call it a night."

"The night's young! We got plenty of time before we gotta turn in."

"_Reno_," she whined.

"Okay, okay, but we gotta have one more, one for the road. Hey Dregg! Dregg!" He waved at the barkeep, catching his attention. "A double vodka neat for each of us, kay?"

Dregg nodded, coming out from behind the counter to personally serve them their shots in clean glasses. Reno smiled his thanks and slid a fifty note to the man on top of their paid tab. He lifted his shot and waited for Elena to do the same. She held up the drink cautiously, eyes wide in worry that she might not be able to hold it in. Reno tilted his head and caught her attention, grinning wide. "Okay, you make the toast."

"Erm, to...hell, to us, I guess." She tapped her shot against his. "To us."

"To us," Reno said with her, taking his double in one gulp.

Done, they both scooted their chairs back and held onto their table for balance, testing how well their legs worked with half a bottle plus of strong liquor in each of them. It took a minute, most spent thanking Dregg with honest drunken gratitude and yet another fifty gil tip, before they found the door and stepped outside into the cool night of sector four. The sky was almost dark, only a sliver of purple on the horizon and the stars hidden by blots of puffy clouds.

"Come on, beautiful, let's head back to the honeymoon suite," Reno chuckled, putting an arm around Elena's shoulder to help keep her steady. It took him a full twenty seconds to realize that she hadn't spat back an insult to his flirt, or even make a sign that she heard him. He looked at her, seeing her eyes glazed over and staring ahead dutifully. It wasn't like her to keep quiet when faced with teasing. It struck him with exaggerated surprise that something was wrong. "What's with the silent treatment all of a sudden?"

"S'nothing," she said. "You just don't surprise me with that kinda talk anymore."

"Wha? So you think my shticks gettin' old or somethin'?"

"Or somethin'."

Reno used his arm to swing her around and he kissed her fiercely, eyes open to see the realization light up her eyes. She responded after a moment, arms grabbing him close, tongue darting between his lips, and they both forgot about the world or what started this and leaned into one another with a need that neither understood but couldn't ignore. After several seconds Reno broke off and took a startled breath, staring at Elena as if she had gone off the deep end. She didn't look angry or happy, but her eyes revealed a desperation in them that he hadn't ever seen before. She withdrew slowly, eyes never leaving his, hands holding onto his sides as if they were the only anchors for her life. They stared at one another like this for what felt like lifetimes.

"Surprised now?" Reno asked.

Neither of them laughed.

"Was...was that...?"

"Reno, I...I didn't think I'd..."

"Oh, man," he muttered.

"I thought it was a joke, but...god, it felt _right_. _It felt right_."

"Oh man."

"It...did you...feel the same way?"

"Oh man-"

She shook him once, snapping him to attention and killing his argument, staring right into his luminescent eyes. "_Tell me the truth, Reno_."

"I didn't think I would," he admitted quietly, as if sharing some great secret. "I didn't think I would, but-"

His words were cut off as Elena leaned in and kissed him with the same ferocity as he did unto her, and his response drifted away along with every other concern.


	15. Fifteen

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

**: The Past Concluded :**

_**---Conference Room #1, City Hall**_

The room, large and opulent for the benefit of adding history and strength to the temporary government, seemed to overwhelm it's few occupants. Mayor Hart, who had just completed recording a television statement that was to be sent out to all major cities, was waiting on the last arrivals of the executive council to show so they could discuss the latest peril that had arisen. At his side was Eberhard, the Soldier looking visibly confident about the coming talks, and Reeve, looking half dead from another of his overnight sessions working with the sector police. The other members of the council sat on the opposite side of the large central table, each of them considering their arguments and questions about the danger that they had been alerted to. The silence between them all was awkward, forced. They had all given in to outbursts as the news was explained until Hart came down and ordered them to be quiet until everyone arrived and discussion could be held with everyone who mattered. The table then felt more a literal dividing line between mayor and subordinates, the minutes only magnifying the sensation.

The double doors in the back opened, Illea, Oberon and Trent hurrying inside.

"My apologies for the delay," Oberon said, "there were some discrepancies in the blueprints of the block under construction, so I had to review and correct them on the spot."

"That's not a problem," Hart replied.

"I try to keep to your wishes the best I can."

"And you have, so don't apologize further. Sit, we need to come to a decision about this quickly."

"What exactly are we talking about? You didn't really explain yourself," Illea added, taking one of the last seats.

Hart looked towards Eberhard, nodding for the Soldier to repeat his statement. He stood and buttoned his coat in a smooth motion, looking around to see that everyone was paying attention.

"The rogue Soldiers in Midgar may have found themselves a leader to carry them through in a plan to take over this city," Eberhard began. "From reports I gleaned from sector police, and also from sources in the sectors, it is evident that a high ranking Soldier has remade himself into a commanding officer and is gathering any Soldier he finds into a personal army. They have, at worst, coordinated several attacks in neighborhoods throughout Midgar to get resources they need to accomplish their mission. At best, they may be keeping hidden and are capable of a surprise attack that could wipe us out in one fell swoop. I needn't reiterate the dangers that the serial killer posed. What I do emphasize is that each Soldier has in his capacity to be just as dangerous and just as difficult to locate. The presence of the sector police has eliminated their influence in sector three, yet they have seven more to stage an operation from. They might even occupy the three surviving plates in order to hide from us, to reduce out ability to strike at the heart of their organization. I can say from personal experience that this is a logical assumption to make, that their actions expose the foundation of a large scale operation. Whether it is for peaceful intentions or not is a moot point, together as such they can only work towards the destruction of whatever they classify as an enemy.

"However, let it be clear that not all Soldiers think this way. I should be example enough that not all of my kind are beyond redemption, or are unable to move on. My contact has informed me that he has in confidence over two dozen Soldiers who would be willing to work with us, provided that they aren't persecuted for their previous deeds. Indeed, he says that our very actions in sector three are what drives Soldiers to enlist with this commander. He says that if we put an end to the search and arrest warrant on all Soldiers in Midgar, he and his men will join us freely. To say that this would provide us a powerful trump card in his coming conflict belittles their benefit, they may be the deciding factor if given the resources needed to attack the commander and kill him, thus striking off the serpent's head. The risk otherwise is allowing an enemy force the chance to either annex a part of Midgar for their own gain, or the ruination of everything we have accomplished to slake their lust for power and violence. What I ask, and that Mayor Hart will officially broach, is for your approval and backing to grant these Soldiers amnesty and to let them aid our effort in stopping this from occurring."

Wikker stood before any other councilmember. "You want our blessin' to take in a bunch of Soldiers, then send 'em off to kill this supposed commander before he starts a war in Midgar?"

"Yes," Eberhard said dryly.

The police commander looked severe. "Mayor, you an' I agreed that they pose a threat, but an army? You really think they're gonna gather together back into an army?"

"I do, Wikker. The evidence supports it."

"The evidence I see is nothin' but the theories that you an' him are cooking up! We've managed to capture and imprison over eighty Soldiers in sector three alone! Forty seven of them died in those very streets rather than surrender. At the rate of progress we're making, we can clean up all of Midgar in under three months time."

Eberhard turned his eyes to stare at Wikker. "We may not have three months time before it is too late. No, I would doubt that even one more month of your patient search would improve our safety. This threat demands an escalation of action, and the best means to that end is a decisive strike against the Soldier commander and his lieutenants."

"You're talkin' about a head-on conflict? You'd have to be insane to think we could handle that kind of mission! The sector police have to use an average of ten men to trap and subdue one Soldier. We'd have to dedicate every enlisted man to go after them."

"Which is why I agreed to take in those Soldiers, Wikker," Hart rationalized. "Which is why I want you all to agree with me. I don't want to start making important decisions without the support of the council. That's too much like how Shinra ran things."

"Well, you'll have to do better than that to convince me," The police commander huffed, returning to his seat.

Hart frowned, returning his gaze to the other members. "What of everyone else?"

Mary, head of social services, stood to speak. "Sir, I agree with mister Wikker. This seems like an awful lot of speculation and war-mongering. If those Soldiers wanted to harm us, why wait for four months? Wouldn't they have attacked right away?"

"Not necessarily," Eberhard replied, holding up his hand to forestall Hart's retort. "Soldiers act on orders, have been bred, for a lack of a better term, to follow a leader. Most Soldiers aren't given training to command, so they merely act in their own interests until other orders are given. They are human, too. They would need time to comprehend what's happened to their city and leadership, to settle down and recover from the trauma. What I've seen and heard follows the natural progression of downtime, reorganization, and integration periods any army would undergo in such a crisis. The reason it took four months was the distance between Soldiers and the necessary purging of numbers for those still loyal to the program."

"So...what happens next?"

"Whatever it is their commander has planned. Now, if not soon, they will be a complete division ready for action. If that happens to be taking over Midgar, then we must prepare a suitable response."

"Well, can you be _sure_ they mean to invade?"

"Madam, it is our nature to prey on the weak, and right now Midgar is just that. Any Soldier still loyal to the code would see us as a jewel for the taking."

"Uh-huh..."

As Mary sat back down, Hart leaned forward to rest his arms on the table. "Anyone else?"

There was no one else.

"Very well. I put to vote this issue, to give amnesty to the aforementioned Soldiers in exchange for their aid in fighting this threat of Soldier invasion and to ultimately destroy it's leadership. All those in favor?" He watched as the men at his sides lifted their hands, including Oberon, Mary, Cort, and Trent. "All those against?" Two hands were raised, belonging to Wikker and Illea. "The ayes have it by majority, therefore this issue will be passed and initiated immediately."

"Who said this was a democracy?" Wikker stated.

"I did," Hart said venomously, "and I won't tolerate any dissent to that, even in jest. There must be a right to vote and pass ballots by majority. Anything else is a gross misrepresentation of the public will."

"And where's the public will in this?"

"In our hands as their emergency representatives. There's still too large a crisis to allow time for a public vote on all issues. I believe they will trust us to make the right choices on their behalf."

"Oh, that we will, Mayor. I, for one, won't take part in this farce. My men are mine to command. I won't involve them in a witch hunt because somebody says there's a command structure and an army in a bunch of rabble-rousers."

"As you will, Wikker. If you don't want to be involved, then you needn't."

"Firing me won't solve matters, either!" He shouted, interrupting the mayor. "My men won't bow to one of your patsys!"

"Enough! I'm not going to replace you, there's no time for political nonsense. I meant what I said. The Soldiers we'll be recruiting will go under a unit apart from yours, one under the leadership of mister Reeve."

"Him?!"

"Yes." Hart glanced over at the tired man. "If you would explain?"

"Sure," Reeve said, standing. "I've talked to mister Adagio in private about a project of mine, one that I'm certain the world needs more than ever. I've asked him for the right to create an organization known as the World Restoration Order, the WRO. The short of it would be a corporate-quasi-government body that could go wherever it's needed, helping however it can. If they need new homes, we would build them. Leaders or public workers, we would train them. Reactors or other hazards leftover from Shin-Ra cleaned, we would dispose of them. Protection from monsters, or even Soldiers, and we would deploy there and eradicate them. But first and foremost, the WRO would remain here to help Midgar however it can. Right now it would be to stop those Soldiers from harming the population, either one against one or as army against army. The Soldiers we'll be taking in are going to be the first recruits in my organization, God willing they'll accept. Hart?"

The mayor nodded. "That's the gist of it. While Reeve is free to make whatever company he wants, he honored me by asking that it be given over to us for a vote. He wants to make certain that his WRO would be welcome here to work alongside us."

"Alex, you're really willin' to wager that on our generosity?" Wikker said incredulously.

"I am," he said. He lifted his arms to encompass the room. "Look at us. Right now we're arguing the fate of Midgar when it could already be falling past the point of no return. There has to be a group of people who can operate faster than this, can work without dealing with political red tape and power struggles. The WRO is the sort of quick response unit we need to stop a problem from turning into a crisis like it has here."

"It's hardly a crisis."

"Difference of opinion, but the facts remain. What else would you call half of Midgar in ruins?"

Wikker grunted, allowing Hart to rise alongside of Reeve. "So let's begin. I call to vote this issue, that the formation of the World Restoration Order be permitted to begin and that it's leadership may participate in civil matters until such a time that their presence is no longer required. All those in favor?" Everyone raised their hand with the exception of Wikker, arms crossed in disdain. "The ayes have it by majority. The organization known as the World Restoration Order will be permitted to exist and it's members to work in conjunction with the governmental body of Midgar. I'll take it that you'll be the liaison?"

"Yes," he agreed, "for now."

Eberhard stood, then. "Gentlemen, I must excuse myself to inform my contact of the news. Goodnight."

"Was there anything else?" Oberon asked as the Soldier made his way to the doors.

"No, that was all," Hart said. "We have my television message ready to broadcast throughout the continent and the means to find and stop whatever dangers are out there. Now the only thing we can do is stay the course and pray we've done the right thing."

-----

Eberhard closed his phone and pocketed the device, tugging his coat lapels tighter to ward off the night cold. He still wore a triumphant smile at the success he had in motivating the council to act on his advice after nearly two weeks of saying it to any sympathetic ear in the administration. He knew, felt it as soon as he witnessed how botched an effort the sector police made in hunting down one rogue Soldier, that any conflict between them and Soldier as a entity would be completely one sided. There was simply no way that any organized force, even a tough unit like Midgar's own defenders, could stop Soldier once it began to operate as a whole. They had to fight fire with fire, strike at the heart of the movement, if they wanted any chance at success. With luck, the people that Stoke would be bringing on would be talented enough to overcome whatever obstacles lay ahead of them.

The walk to his home was short, having taken residence in one of the closest prefabricated apartments to cut down on time wasted between work and rest. The neighborhood was all his own tonight, and he was glad for the silence. As he neared his building there was a small noise, almost imperceptible, from behind him, and he stopped completely still. A second sense made the hairs on his neck tingle, and he turned around to face the unknown threat that made him so suddenly wary. Only a few steps away was another man, face highlighted by green mako eyes, holding a pistol up and aimed at his face. Eberhard put an image to the noise: the click of a safety catch.

"Good evening, comrade," the man said in a friendly tone.

"Good evening to you," Eberhard replied cordially.

The man nodded towards his weapon. "I'm sorry to force this into our conversation, but you know that these aren't times for misunderstandings. I'd like my message to be quite clear."

"Which is?"

"Either you join me freely or stay out of our affairs."

"You would offer me a chance to remain neutral? That doesn't sound like you, Occisor."

The man grinned. "I see my reputation precedes me."

"That it does."

"So...your answer?"

Eberhard didn't care to reply, instead sprinting forward with a hand reaching into his coat for a hidden implement. Occisor didn't move from his position, didn't have to, as his attacker was suddenly jolted down and shoved into the asphalt street by a single gunshot from above, a crack like thunder roaring by a moment later. Eberhard got onto his feet without sparing a second, but another terrific shot knocked him right back down with a second bloody would gaping from his back. A third and fourth round were issued as he struggled to rise until he struggled no more. The rogue Soldier holstered his pistol and hunched down, hands clasped above his knees. He waited for Eberhard to lift his head to make eye contact, additional movement too impossible to make as he was.

"Does this explain myself?" He waited a few seconds, then lifted his head to admit having someone present guarding his person. "I was willing to let you go because you're a Soldier of rank, a veteran and a hero even. I honestly couldn't bring myself to face you in solitary combat because I knew you could overpower me. _That_ is why I resorted to this. _That_ is why I have three snipers and two flankmen ready to strike at you, even now."

"Do you fear me so much?" Eberhard wheezed.

"I don't _fear_ you, no, I just respect the danger you pose and act accordingly."

"And now?"

"And now that I have your full attention, I'll extend my offer once more. You can walk away, or you can join me."

"You would not tolerate me living even if I did pledge my fielty."

"Oh? You think so little of my word?"

"This is not your word, merely options, carefully balanced to bring the best results in a given situation. No different than handling someone with a hostage."

Occisor stood glowering. "You mock me."

"I _dissect_ you."

He stepped back and lifted his arm. "Everyone, stand down! Front and center!"

Within the course of thirty seconds, the five Soldiers that Occisor spoke of were at his side, arms aimed at Eberhard despite his incapacitation. Occisor lifted his arm up and muttered the mantra to a spell, a dim yellow haze coalescing about his forehead and temples. He smiled and lowered his arm. "You'll live."

"Then why let me?"

"Quint, shoot his ankles."

The Soldier, Quint, obeyed, aiming his assault rifle and firing two three-round bursts, each one shattering Eberhard's feet into a gritty mess of tissue and bone and blood. Eberhard grimaced in agony, but remained silent save strained gasps of air.

"You have your choice," Occisor said finally.

He gestured for his men to follow, and the six of them turned their backs on him and walked away towards the government offices. Eberhard knew exactly what they would do next, but first he had to tend his wounds before he bled out. He took several breaths, then rolled himself onto his back so he could get into his coat pockets easier, mouth open in silent pain. The sky was getting darker, more unfocused. He tried to get out the bangle with it's materia, but his arms were tingling so badly it was impossible to lift them up onto his chest. Desperate, he closed his eyes and reached for the orbs, felt them out with all the instinct that could be trained in a man. A faint sensation, a cool breeze, blew across his nerves as he contacted the knowledge within the orb he sought. Knowing he had no choice, he ushered all his mental and physical effort into shaping the mantras for the healing spell, and, when he felt about ready to collapse, cast it with a throaty gasp for life. His whole body went lax, but he left consciousness relieved to feel the beginning of the spell undo the injuries he suffered. The last thought he had was a question, a wonder that perhaps he should have alerted them at the cost of his own life instead of leaving them so terribly unaware of the danger on it's way.

_**---Isuzuka**_

"Water."

"_Water_?!" Lari gaped at the order, stunned.

"Make that two waters!" Stoke repeated for the bartender.

"You're gonna drink water. Here. In a pub. At ten at night." Lari's smile grew ever wider as she mocked her comrade. "You gone bloody straightedge on me or somethin'?"

"We need to stay sober until Eberhard calls us back."

The bartender returned with two plastic cups of water for them. Stoke took his and drank it halfway empty. He slid the other in front of Lari. "Drink."

"Come on-"

"Drink it, girl, and get your act together," he snapped.

"The fuck's crawled up your arse," she fumed, taking a sip of the water as if it were her liquor.

Stoke growled at her nonchalance, wishing she wasn't already so drunk as to be this impossible. The whole day he had avoided coming to the bar, knowing the temptation to drink the time away would be very tempting, especially if Lari got a head start and taunted him to match her shots. By the time night fell he had sucummed to the fact that he was going to have to chaperone her so long as she chose to stay and keep drinking. Even the offer of dinner on his tab wasn't enough to make her budge. He had taken the stool next to hers, grudgingly, and consigned himself to another night of sobriety for both their sakes. When she lifted her hand to order another drink, Stoke grabbed it and pulled it back down.

"No more, you hear?"

"Fuck you, _hey_," she called at the keep, catching his attention. "Another shot of that Condor's and a double Sol Especial for my pal 'ere!"

"She's had enough," Stoke argued.

"Barkeep, _you get me my drinks_," she hissed, earning his favor as he reached for the bottles.

Stoke scowled as the keep placed both shots before them. "I ain't drinking tonight."

"Then I guess I'll just have to have 'em both, then. No sense in wastin' perfectly good alcohol, it'd be criminal."

He grabbed her arm again, this time by the wrist, and held it still. They glared at one another, sincere and drunken angers evident on their faces. "I said no more."

"You ain't my fuckin' boss. I'll do whatever I like."

"Don't make me drag your ass outta here like some spoiled bitch."

Lari snorted, used her free hand to grab the double rum and downed it in a single swig. She coughed only once before her smile returned triumphant. Stoke's expression darkened, and he stood and pulled her to her feet before she could resist. With the bar grown silent, every set of eyes watching the performance, Stoke pulled and dragged Lari from her corner seat to the doors at the opposite end of the room as if handling some colicky toddler. He yanked a fistful of paper gil from his pocket and threw it onto the counter as the barkeep unfroze and began heading for the fliptop to get his tab. The embarrassment made him red faced, but that was masked under the anger that was building across his features. When he managed to get them both outside, he used his full strength to fling her out into the street. Despite inebriated muscles, she managed to stay afoot and recover. When she turned to give him a verbal lashing, Stoke slapped her viciously across the face and knocked her onto her back with a cry of pain and surprise.

"Goddammit, bitch! Didn't I tell you to stay sober?! Why the fuck do you gotta keep defyin' me?"

Lari's response was a choked sob that turned into a full fledged, teary-eyed wail that broke the quiet of the block like a siren. He merely stood there in dark anger, unmoved by her outburst. He had let her push the trauma of Yukio's death away for too long, and it was beginning to turn destructive as she drowned in liquor every night. If this was what it took, beating her like a child until she got it out of her system, he was prepared to start and end it right here. A different noise broke the quiet suddenly, his phone. He slid the device out of his coat and checked the caller ID, recognizing the Soldier's number.

"Stoke," he answered.

"The mayor has agreed to give you and your men amnesty in exchange for your help in stopping Occisor from carrying out his plans. Coincidentally, mister Reeve also had his way and is now head of the WRO, which you will work under as their security division. How long will it be until you have gathered your men together?"

Stoke nearly answered, but looked down at Lari, who had curled her arms around her as she shook in tears. He frowned. "We'll have to start tomorrow morning. Got some personal matters to sort out."

"So?"

Eberhard didn't sound concerned, a relief from having to provide a reason. "I'll call with news tomorrow night. Where do we go?"

"City hall, ask for mister Reeve's office. Remind your men to keep any arms out of clear sight, there are still many councilmembers who aren't satisfied with your eventual presence. It would be best not to agitate them."

"Alrighty. Anything else?"

"Not at this time."

"Okay. Talk to you later."

"Later, then."

Stoke closed the phone and put it away, then returned his attention to Lari. She was quieter now, but tears were still pouring from her bloodshot eyes. He grabbed her by a shoulder and pulled her upright, having to hold her tightly before her legs stopped jumping around to catch their balance. Her hands pushed at him and broke her free of his grip. She stumbled a few steps away and came to a stop, shoulders hunched and head drooped as she wept and hiccuped. He hesitated, body between closing the gap to snap some sense into her or to wait for her emotions to settle down from their dominance. Either case, he knew that right now her head was debating the logic that kept her from moving on, that now the emotional agony she bottled up would either wrest her into action or sweep her away and beyond recovery. It wasn't in the best of circumstances, but what other alternative did he have? Stoke had to know whether Lari was going to be useful in the coming days or if her declarations of weakness were, in fact, truthful. They stood there for minutes, silent as the last rays of the sun disappeared and brought the night sky into full bloom. Her crying had subsided aside from a gasp or two, hands wiping the tears away. He took a single step forward and stopped, noticing that her whole body trembled and her head turned to listen.

"Lari, you can't keep ignorin' it. He's dead. They're all dead. There ain't nothing to do except get revenge and keep on livin' so we can carry on the dream. You know that."

"I know," she said faintly.

"Come on, let's get back to the motel."

"Wait!" She turned around and reached out to stop him, hand just short of tugging his shoulder. "Stoke, I want...I gotta do somethin' first, though."

"What?"

She hesitated before answering. "I want to go back. I promised her I would, so..."

He looked at her eyes and saw grief in them, a pain that had been held onto for too long exposed to the world. It looked like she was finally beginning to mourn his loss, to accept it and begin the process of moving on. She was going to live. He nodded approval and put an arm around her shoulder to straighten her up, and they walked away from the bar in silence. They took a slow pace through the streets and alleys, passing by few others as the night deepened and people took indoors for safety and sleep. More than once a shadow would appear in the gloom, but the unnatural mako glow that stood out on their features kept those at bay, marking them untouchable to simple thieves. The buildings became more and more hollow as they went on, walls cracked and roofs collapsed and doors broken down to expose deeper holes of darkness in the lightless neighborhood. Within minutes they passed through an unmarked barrier, entering the legitimate ruins of Midgar that went untouched by the forming city government or by other people seeking refuge from the elements. Even then, in a no-man's-land free of law or rule, they walked immune to the dangers of humans or monsters; the vandals and would be murderers kept hidden, knowing that even more dangerous creatures than themselves were present.

After a rough hour of walking over asphalt, dirt, and mud, they finally rounded a corner and came upon the remains of the apartment. Lari's voice gave an almost animal cry of pain, hurrying her steps until she came to where the broken gate of the building once stood. The whole structure was gone, marked only by a story tall pile of rubble, rebar, and burnt wood. There was no sign of the place she once called home, no trace of living memory, nothing familiar for her eyes to latch onto. Had it only been four days since it happened? To Lari, it felt like years since she had stepped foot on this ground, had shuffled across the roof in the timeless dance of swordplay, had laughed at dinners and fought over perceived insults and cried when he had said goodbye for the last time. The memories surged up from subconscious thought, bringing a torrent of emotion strong enough that it made her body tremble in renewed agony. She fell to her knees and wept again, this time for everything she had lost to the crisis and to the Soldiers who shattered her last hope of a normal life. The tears left her cheeks red and slick, eyes sore and body feeling terribly frail. She had never felt so weak before, so drained of energy and emotion, and it frightened her that those emotions could hold such power over her body. Would that her arrogance and stubborn attitude come back to banish that weakness, to make her feel right again and not so empty. So many thing she wished for, knowing they would never return. This pain would be a constant and defining presence for the rest of her life.

Eventually she stood back up, noting that Stoke had kept a respectful distance between them so she could have her solitude. She took a last look at the apartment, images of how things were superimposed over the wreckage, before turning away and walking to his side.

"You okay now?" He asked.

"Yeah," she said, wiping the last of her tears out of her eyes. "What's done is done. It's time to start livin'."

"For revenge?"

Lair shook her head. "For them."

_**---Turk's Apartment**_

Reno cracked an eye open, an unwelcome response because of the light from the window, and saw someone lying next to him. The other eye opened to double check this, and surely the image became clear and there really was someone inches apart from him, blonde hairs tousled and spread limp across face and pillow. Reno felt a strange panic curl in his gut when recognition kicked in. He didn't move, but both eyes were open wide as he stared at Elena's face, mind digging frantically to find out what she was doing here. They had drank, had left the bar early, had _kissed_, had groped one another. The memory flared like lightning, and the rest came just as quickly. He looked at her and saw her naked breasts just underneath his blankets, felt her leg intertwined with his, saw pieces of their undergarments lying on the floor, and it stuck him just what they had to have done that night.

_'Oh man, this is gonna be awkward.'_

He tried to move, tried with all the sneakiness that was drilled into him to extract his legs from hers, but her eyes blinked open several times and focused, looking up at him. He froze, caught like an animal in the headlights. All the guilty feelings began to make him blush, but not a single clever witticism made it past his throat to explain himself.

"Reno," she breathed.

"'Lena," he mimicked.

"Did we...?"

He gulped. "Yeah. We did."

They both lay together, absorbing the impact of their statements. Neither of them had ever really thought about the dynamics of their relationship, the underlying sexual tone that had developed from being so close, from knowing so much about the other, even if it was on a professional level. They each thought themselves attractive and willing, but never had recognized this fact in the other. It just wasn't something appropriate to talk about, or perhaps something they didn't have the courage to confront. Now, faced with the truth of the tension that had built to this, they still couldn't admit to the other that they wanted it to happen. Turks just didn't sleep with other Turks. Her hand slid out from beneath the blankets and tentatively stroked his face, fingers gently tracing his cheekbone and jawline. Reno let her, nerves tingling at the featherlight sensation. He looked at her, saw her serene expression and the slight smile on her lips, her hair curling just above her shoulders, the white bandage half loose over the cut on her forehead. This wasn't the Elena he knew. Elena wasn't soft like this, didn't glow from the warmth and pleasure of sex, wasn't supposed to be naked in his bed with her thigh beginning to rub against his thigh, didn't call him on his flirting and give him what he jokingly wanted, wasn't supposed to be this much a woman.

Her lips were almost pressed to his when he turned away, extracting himself from her embrace to stand, ending the moment. The air was cold, making him shiver. He looked back at her and saw a confused expression, and this time it tore at him with more than just simple guilt.

"Reno?" All her questions were loaded into his name.

"Elena, this...this isn't what you want it to be." He began walking around the bed, looking for his shorts.

"But-"

"I was," he paused, finding and putting on his boxers. "_We_. We were drunk, Elena, that's all."

"I meant it," she insisted. "I meant what I said."

"No you didn't."

"I did! Reno, you were-"

"No," he said forcefully, cold logic bursting through his clouded mind to shock him with the exact words he knew she would say next. "Don't you-"

"You were my first," she said plainly.

The silence was deafening.


	16. Sixteen

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

**: The Past Concluded :**

_**---Turk's Apartment**_

"Oh man," Reno sighed, feeling his stomach twist at the implications of her declaration: she was a virgin. He never expected that Elena, a woman capable of all manners of violence, would have maintained that physical innocence when every other aspect of her persona was tainted by sin and vice. How could anyone perform as a Turk and not have tasted the many flavors of sex and know it's influence and power? He sat on the edge of the bed finally, trying to work things out. He had taken a virgin on two occasions, and each time he had to deal with the clinginess of adolescence and the emotional backlash when they realized he had no investment in a relationship except for sex. How could he do the same to her? She was a _Turk_, she was _supposed_ to be accustomed to having friends with benefits in case she felt like a good romp in the sack. Even more frightening was the impact it had on his months of flirting and jokes. If she had never even had sex before, how did she interpret all his advances and innuendo? Her entire emotional map would be way off from what he thought it was. This sent the question burning down his tongue before he could stop himself. "You gotta be kidding me!"

"I'm not!" She replied just as loud.

"It's...then..." Reno lowered his head into his hands, snorting to stop from laughing. "Wow, I never woulda thought you were such a prude."

She punched him, hard; Reno didn't even sense her move until her fist mashed his lips against his teeth. He managed to not fall off the bed, even to keep from raising an arm in defense if she chose to hit him again. She didn't, sitting upright with one arm holding the bedsheet up, the other tense. He felt his jaw, licked his teeth and sighed relief that none were loose or rattling in his mouth.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Elena said nothing in response, instead scooting out of the bed to search for her own clothing.

"I mean...how can you be a Turk and never had done it? It's...it's like learning to run before you crawl, you...it just can't be done."

"Well clearly someone did," she hissed.

"Come on, 'Lena, just explain it to me."

She stood rigid, hands clutching her panties and bra. Throwing them down, she instead grabbed her shirt and threw it on, buttoning it up to ward off the chill. "I just never got into the whole sleeping with your classmates deal in school. No one wanted to fuck the psycho, you'd break your dick trying to get between her legs, goddammit." She held back a sob, but tears still ran from the corner of her eyes. She sat down on the bed next to Reno, staring at the carpet. "I tried to fit in, but they just kept me out of everything! Hardly anyone wanted to be my friend, and even they left me eventually. By the time I graduated, I was just sick and tired of the bullshit they put me through, so I just left and did the only thing I knew how. I started work as security for a club, then moved up to proper businesses and eventually Shin-Ra. You know the rest."

Reno put an arm around her shoulder and held her gently, silent as she unloaded her feelings. "No one cared who I was. No one wanted to know me. Every time I tried to make friends with someone, it was like school all over again! All I was to them was that tough bitch who didn't complain when it got hard. The professional. A suit. That's all I'm good for, kicking the shit out of things. No one wants to screw a woman who is stronger than them."

"I did," he said with sympathy. When Elena turned her head to glare at him, he lifted an arm and put it next to hers. "'Case you didn't notice, I'm not mister universe myself. See, we're a close match."

"Whatever."

"Hey, I'm tryin' to help."

"Then why don't you say it?! I know you feel the same way about me."

"'Cause I _don't_ feel the same way."

"Stop lying to me, Reno!" She shrieked, standing and confronting him afoot. She tried to talk, but the words wouldn't come. "I...I...!"

"I what?" He deadpanned.

"You...you bastard," she whimpered, disappearing out the door and into her room across the hall.

Reno sat in silence, staring at the door and the hallway for several seconds, trying to understand how badly she was taking it all. He didn't want to entertain the notion that there was any true romance between them, nor did he want Elena to think there was. They were friends, and last night they shared their bodies with one another to commemorate that fact. What he understood and she didn't was that sex didn't imply love, didn't imply that people were in love if they could sleep with one another. Sex was pleasure, and pleasure needed few excuses, especially when you were drunk. It was a cynical outlook, but one that Reno lived by. He only hoped that Elena would understand in time.

The sound of his phone emanated from down the hall, so he stood and walked into the main room and looked around for it, seeing his coat flung over the table and the device buried within it. He missed the call by a second, so he checked the call history and had a start at the number of missed calls. Someone had tried to call him seventeen times throughout the course of the night, fifteen of these calls with Reeve's ID, one from the sector police precinct, and the most recent call from Rude. He speed-dialed the number, getting a response right away.

"Get dressed," Rude said immediately.

"What's up?"

"The rogue Soldiers attacked the city government building last night. Casualties are high."

Reno felt his heart rate double on the spot. "_Shit_! Shit shit shit...is Reeve okay? What about the others?"

"Reeve has minor injuries. Most of the executive council is dead, and the mayor is in serious condition at Grace hospital."

"Fuck! What else?"

"Reeve had Cait Sith present in the building, so it managed to slow the enemy down before being destroyed. He led an evacuation to get noncombatants out, commander Wikker and other men staying to buy them time. The sector police responded fast enough to intercept them just before the Soldiers attacked. In the end five of six Soldiers were killed, with casualties numbering thirteen dead and nineteen wounded in the police. Wikker's group all died. Only the women of the council are alive."

"The...what the fuck! Why didn't you get me?!"

A silent moment passed before Rude replied. "You were otherwise...occupied."

"I...oh." Reno rubbed his eyes, trying to comprehend the severity of the problems they would face. "Shit, I'll be there soon. Where at?"

"The sector police have city hall occupied. They will be planning their next actions from there."

"Right, see you soon." He snapped the phone closed and rushed back into his room, picking up his scattered clothing and donning them without concern for wrinkles or appearance. Done, he grabbed the holster for his electrorod and secured that beneath his arm, then tossed on his coat and hastily did his hair up with a elastic tie. He knocked on Elena's door and opened it, seeing her just as hurriedly dressed and her hands occupied with combing her hair back. She glanced back at him through the mirror, eyes red with tears but lacking the emotion.

"I heard," she answered his silent question, dropping her comb for her belt with pistol and ammunition.

"Then...?"

She brushed past him bodily, looking back in surprise. "Come on, let's go!"

He followed. "But what about-"

"Forget it," she said, barely slowing down. "Just forget I ever said anything."

"Forget it?" He mimicked. "Come on, you were a wreck in there. You gonna be okay?"

"There isn't time for that, Reno!" She swore, locking their apartment and jogging towards the double doors of the building.

Reno grumbled, keeping pace. "Fucking typical."

-----

The appearance of the building was only slightly marred, broken windows and doors knocked off their frames, lending any visitors a thought that perhaps things weren't so bad. Once inside, though, such hopes quickly faded under the shock of the damage before them. Reno and Elena hurried inside past several officers standing guard, eyes wide at the carnage within the lobby. The front desk was shattered into wood splinters, the wall behind spattered with blood and ichor, the others covered in blackened ash and soot from whatever exploded in there. Holes riddled sections of hallways and doors, brass cartridges littering the grounds in tandem, bloody stains gravemarkers of the fallen. The two Turks headed towards the conference rooms, the space being used for doctors and medics to treat the wounded who were still too injured to move to the hospital. On one end of the central oak table was a collection of metal scraps and bits and piles of matted white fur, Reeve behind it all with his hands paralyzed by indecisiveness and his face seemingly on the verge of tears. When they went to him, he was quietly muttering words or prayers or something of both.

"Yo Reeve, you okay?" Reno asked.

"I...I don't know where to start," he said quietly.

"Start?"

"This!" He barked, motioning to the pile of junk. "Mog! They completely ruined him! I can't even find all his parts, and so many of them are broken beyond repair..."

"What about Cait Sith?" Elena asked hopefully.

"He's okay. Mostly. He got knocked out of action, but it's nothing serious. I can fix him. But this is...this is more than I can handle."

"So...what, does this make that cat useless or somethin'?" Reno inquired.

"No, but he can't fight on his own."

"Well, fat lotta good it did here."

Reeve stole a glare at Reno before focusing back to the parts, finally moving them into a semblance of order and purpose. "At least he tried to help."

"Hey-"

"Hey nothing!" Reeve roared, cutting Reno's defense down without effort. "I tried calling you, over and over, and you never answered! What the fuck were you doing that was so important that you couldn't answer your damn phone?!"

"I'd rather not say."

Reeve stalked forward and grabbed the redhead by the cuff of his collar, anger burning in his normally passive eyes. "You better answer me, Turk."

Reno's arm snapped upwards, knocking Reeve's hand away. He held the limb up, fingers rigidly in place to show he wasn't being nonchalant about the action. He glared at Reeve for several seconds, waiting for the man to turn back, but he never did. This sort of anger was strange to see on the architect's face, even more so that he chose to focus it on a Turk more than used to such displays. Reno lowered his arm absently, tugging his coat back into shape. "Drop it."

Something snapped within Reeve, and a moment barely passed before he flung himself at Reno with a vicious punch leading the way. The redhead took it square in the temple before Elena intervened and held Reeve back by his shoulders, voices barking curses and orders. Reeve struggled for a few seconds more before his motions became jerky and his legs collapsed from beneath him, and then his voice gave out into crying and laughter and spat insults all at once. Elena let him go gently and he curled into himself, head resting on his knees with his arm circled about, voice muted. Both Turks stood still, eyes pinned to the man who had just run a gamut of emotional outbursts that he never exposed to them, now weeping silently on the floor.

"The fuck is his deal?" Reno spat, rubbing his head gingerly.

"I dunno, maybe that he saw his friends get killed by a bunch of Soldiers? Y'know, in _shock_?"

He rolled his eyes. "Quit preachin'."

"What's going on?" Someone spoke.

Reno glanced at the speaker and nearly had a double take, recognition kicking in when he saw her silver hair and purple eyes, Rude flanking her with this usual stoic expression. "Atma?" She was no longer bandaged from her injuries, hardly any evidence of them left except a faded bruise on her jawline. Something about her expression, though, caught the Turk's attention for a moment. It almost looked like she was worried, face no longer a mask of indifference. "Hell, girl, where have you been?! It's been days!"

"Recuperating," she explained simply. "Thinking."

"Rec...you've just been lying around while we do all the hard work? Feh, some Soldier you are."

Atma glared at him, eyes narrowed. "Hey, I didn't see you take down the serial killer on your own, so shove it."

Reno opened his mouth to snap a response, but words failed when it dawned on him that the ice cold fox he thought her as had thrown his insult back at him. She walked around him and knelt in front of Reeve, trying to coax the man out of his shell with quiet words and a comforting hand on his shoulder. He responded slowly, allowing himself to be stood up and led away from the group and somewhere private. Reno stared with wide eyes as they left, mind racing.

"That was weird," Elena commented.

"Reeve has a breakdown and she's acting human. Yeah, I think that definitely qualifies as weird," he replied.

"Hey!"

Reno turned around to see who yelled at him, just noticing the backhanded swing that caught him across the jaw and sent him stumbling backwards into Elena's arms.

"You bastard," Varik spat, "where the hell were you?"

"Mother_fucker!!_" Reno shouted for all to hear, stalking away from Elena and Rude to stand in aggression. "That's the third time already! The fuck is everyone's deal?!"

"The deal is we needed your help and you ignored us!" The police chief retorted. "Where the fuck were you?"

"Busy, and I'll kick your scrawny ass if you even try it."

He narrowed his eyes to a glare. "Don't think I'm a pushover like he is."

Reno's eyes were sharp as knives as he stared back. "Varik, you _don't_ want to fuck with me."

"Enough," Rude spoke, cutting their argument down. He stepped between Turk and officer to keep them separate. "We need to cooperate."

Varik snorted in disgust. "Cooperate nothing! I'm just the fucking messenger this time, so listen up! The Soldiers _are_ uniting, and there _is_ a division of 'em out there waiting for action. The mayor wants us to get ready for an all out attack on government buildings and the Edge City project, 'cept you guys get the lucky job. Apparently mister Reeve got his wish and started his WRO thing, so you get to work with him and a bunch of 'good Soldiers' to make a first strike against 'em. Sometime in the next two days is when it's going down. Got it? Good, I'm outta here."

"Wha...hey, hold on! Wait a sec, dammit!" Reno sputtered at the chief's back, unable to draw his attention.

"Let it go, Reno," Rude said.

The redhead rounded on his partner with a furious expression. "The hell I should! What the fuck does he mean by all that?!"

"I will explain everything. We need to gather everyone together and start planning."

"For _what_?"

"War."

Reno arched his eyebrows in surprise, eying his partner for a silent moment. "War? You serious?"

"I am."

A moment passed as he took this in. He shook his head after, wondering why he ever doubted him. "Fhh...well then, best get started, huh?"

The three Turks walked out of the conference chamber, asking around until they found Atma and Reeve in a stripped room as of yet unconverted to an office. The architect was resting on the single chair in the middle of them, head bowed to the support of his hands. Atma was resting against a wall, arms slack, her expression returned to a normal impassive gaze. Neither of them spoke when the three entered, Rude closing the door for privacy while the others looked towards Reeve with mixed feelings. The man still looked terrible fragile after his outburst, and no one wanted to make it worse. Whatever he had faced that night must have been incredibly to shake him so badly. A minute passed in awkward silence until Reeve sat up, wiping his face with a handkerchief to clean up the traces of tears, unable to affect the puffy redness beneath his eyes.

"Sorry," he said quietly.

"It's alright," Elena spoke for them.

"Has Varik spoken with you?"

"Yeah."

"Then you know what's being done."

"Think you could explain it a bit better than that jackass?" Reno groused.

Reeve fixed his eyes at Reno. "It's not very complex. We're waiting for a group of Soldiers to arrive here courtesy of Eberhard and a man named Stoke. Stoke claims to know where the rogue Soldier's base is, and who their commander is. He agreed to lead a team of Soldiers there in exchange for amnesty from the sector police. Once everyone is here we'll review a map of the area, find a way to sneak into their territory, and kill the commander before he attacks again."

The redhead didn't seemed any more satisfied with that explanation. "That's it?"

"That's all it should take. Stoke and Eberhard agree that most of the Soldiers in Midgar want to be left alone. It's people like this commander that incite them to fight. If we can stop them...if we stop hunting them like criminals, then there is a chance we could have peace."

"That's real likely..."

Reeve stood suddenly, eyes alight with hope. "_It can be_. We have to work together to save Midgar, all of us. Look at yourselves! Would anyone think that Turks could be trusted five months ago? Now they work alongside you without fear. What about Delita? Even common people accept Soldiers as human beings instead of killers, and they used to be feared the world over! Shin-Ra employees are helping everywhere and no one complains. We have to forgive them, or what is all our justice good for? Do you want society back to revenge, an eye for an eye? Even murderers are given a chance for parole, to return to society. _We have to give them this chance_, or all we've done is _worthless_."

"Divided we fall, together we stand." Everyone looked at Atma, the Soldier sharing the same hopeful expression that Reeve bore. "We have to trust them, much like they trust us."

Silence remained for a time, everyone considering the ideal that Reeve spoke of and how much faith they had in it's viability. Ever since the collapse of Shin-Ra, it seemed that the only way to achieve real peace was to destroy every single remnant of the company, for good or evil. Yet Domino was willing to absolve certain employees of their crimes and let them participate in renewing the city they helped to victimize; He saw that there was some good within the company. Even the sector police, the most vocal opponents of Shin-Ra, were willing to accept some help from those who once were responsible for the corruption around them. It was much harder to see how they could allow Soldiers, who had continued to harass people, to come back into society without punishment. But, if their actions had spurred the Soldiers into this, then was the fault entirely their own? Was the blame equally shared? If so, then both parties had to make efforts to mend the broken ties between them. And if there were Soldiers willing to do their part? Didn't it rationally mean that someone here had to do the same? Atma finally broke the quiet, standing upright, shoulders squared, ready.

"It has to be done." Her voice gained in strength, features set for whatever may come. "We have to work together to stop them."

_**---Grace Hospital**_

The room was crowded, half because of the bed and medical equipment, the other the presence of people looking over the frail and sickly mayor of Midgar. Hart Adagio was prone in the comfort of his mattress, a cast covering his left thigh and another his right arm from wrist to shoulder. Angry purple bruises stretched across his jawline, a black raccoon ring around one eye. It was clear that he had suffered when he tried his hand at stopping the Soldiers from harming anyone else. Despite this, and his time in surgery and anesthesia, he went on as if nothing were different. His eyes were half lidden from obvious exhaustion, but he continued looking straight ahead while his voice quietly carried the instructions he had for his staff.

"Make sure they know where to go," he told Estrella firmly, "there must be no delay."

Another note in an already filled paper. "Yes sir."

He closed his eyes and sighed lightly. "Tell Reeve to...to keep moving. Don't let him worry about me."

"I know, sir. Do you need to rest now?"

They snapped open again. "No. Keep writing. Any word from Varik?"

"No," an officer replied, seated in the door with his pistol unsafetied and unstrapped, "the block is still being searched."

"Tell him...no, he knows what he's doing. What about the rest of the Turks?"

"He said they just arrived."

"Good, good."

"Sir-" Estrella began.

"Any word from the project? Do they know what happened yet?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."

"Damn. We need to find someone to take over. Get someone looking for candidates."

"Of course."

"How is it going?"

"What?"

"The project."

"I don't know. I guess they're still working."

"Make sure they do. We can't stop the project for anything, even this."

A heavy sigh. "Yes, sir."

"Mister Adagio, you should be resting," A different voice commented from outside. The owner appeared in a wheelchair and hospital dressing by the door, eyes sharply luminescent. "Worrying over others will only be detrimental to your health at this time."

Hart leaned over to look at the newcomer. "I _can't_ rest, Eberhard, not now. Not when this city needs me."

"What this city needs is a man well rested, not perpetually in his deathbed."

"You're one to talk."

The Soldier only looked down at his feet long enough to show his indifference. Both of them were amputated, bandaged and stitched and ready for eventual prothesises; his materia was good enough to save his life, but not good enough to mend such severe harm.

"Blind leading the blind," the mayor reiterated. He leaned back down, sinking into his pillows. "That will be all for now, Estrella."

"Take it easy, sir," she said, up and out of the room eagerly. Eberhard wheeled himself in her place.

"Are _you_ going to lecture me?" Hart asked.

"Not if you concede the argument."

This drew a weak chuckle from the man. "Since everyone's making it their business, but why are you here?"

"Truthfully, to get out and see someone other than my doctors."

"I'm afraid I won't be a good companion for that."

"I know, but I felt it proper to visit."

This left the mayor quiet for several moments. "Oh..."

The Soldier backed out into the hall. "Rest well, sir, we will handle the rest."

"You too."

He hesitated before moving on, glancing back only a moment. "Goodbye."

_**---Somewhere in Sector Two**_

Stoke felt like a complete and obvious idiot doing this, but he raised his hands up and cupped them over his mouth once again. "Wilhelm! Wil-helm! God damn it..." His phone rang suddenly, and he answered it just as fast. "What."

"I can hear you all the way over 'ere!" Lari taunted between fits of giggles.

"Shut up, woman," he groaned, closing the phone and continuing his walk through the ruined block. The day had been going fine until now, one of his contacts and a second class to boot Soldier missing from the squalor that he called his haunt. The man was simply gone, and Stoke was getting ready to call it quits and continue down his list of people to find; Lari had already contacted ten of thirteen people he told her to look for, and she was getting cockier every time. She was doing much better since last night, quieter and less prone to argue, but at least possessed of arrogance and snappy remarks. It was a relief to feel, and with every man and woman he found and informed, he felt that much better that their revenge would be seen through. Barely a week since his friends were killed, and it felt like years of planning coming together. He supposed he ought to be thankful that this was the worst snarl in his plans, but he still grumbled over the wasted time.

"Wilhelm!" He shouted again, frustration mounting.

"Bang bang, you're dead!" A voice replied from somewhere above him.

Stoke spun back, looking around to see where the familiar voice came from. There was no one in the open, nothing to show that someone was even there. It then dawned on him how many empty windows were present, how many supposedly empty buildings he walked through, and how each of them could be home to someone bearing him ill will. He resisted the urge to draw his revolver and find cover, thinking and hoping it was just Wilhelm teasing him for being absent minded.

"Over here!" The voice said again, taunting the Soldier.

"Just get the hell out here," Stoke asked.

"Good lord, you're rusty," the voice sighed, coming from a completely different angle. Stoke looked and saw Wilhelm stepping out of a doorway, a cumbersome sniper rifle across his shoulders and a smile stretching ear to ear on his face. "I suppose that's why you like things close and personal."

"The same reason why you can't kill somethin' without a scope, you braggart." He lifted a hand and shook Wilhelm's vigorously. "Good to see 'ya."

"Same here. So what's the occasion?"

"It's goin' down."

Wilhelm's eyes lit at the statement. "That soon, huh?"

"Yep. It's time to call their bluff. You up for it?"

"Sure as hell I am."

"Got your stuff together?"

"This is all there is."

"Alrighty, now listen up. I've still got some other guys to find before my work's done, so you get yourself over to city hall and hang tight. There's a prefab apartment about a block down, corner of Main and Flower. That's where we're bunkin' until somethin' better comes up. You ask for mister Reeve at city hall and he'll sort you out. Best to keep your gear outta sight, too, they're still pretty iffy about us workin' for them."

"Okay, so what about the necessities? Do we get three squares or what?"

"Far as I know we're gettin' hired and put to work right off, an' I doubt they'll be givin' us an advance on a paycheck. There's gonna be foldin' money if you need it, but best bet is a roof and work only."

"But is it _permanent_ work? Same old, same old?"

"Seems to be."

Wilhelm considered this a moment, grin never leaving his face. "Well, there's always people to assassinate. Shin-Ra or not, it makes no difference to me."

"Good to hear. I gotta get going, so take it easy."

"Same with you, cowboy."

They turned and went their own ways, Stoke chuckling at the other's remarks as he headed towards ruins deeper within.

Wilhelm continued down an alley until he reached a main avenue, then turned towards the revitalized part of the sector with a confident gait. He slung his rifle back so it hung by his shoulder, barrel nearly touching the ground, and stretched his arms. It didn't worry him at all that someone might take badly to an open show of firepower, the fact that he never hid his eyes was proof enough of his danger. He took out his phone and dialed a number, only waiting a single ring before a response.

"Yes?" The voice inquired.

"He's almost ready. It'll be any day, now."

A single hum of humor. "Excellent."

-----

Occisor snapped his phone closed, a victorious smile spread across his face. It seemed that events were coming to a climax, and all of them dancing in his palm. The sector police would no doubt assemble to their complete ranks, an army ready to strike against whatever enemy they could find; They would make glorious martyrs when his division swept them over. And now, with that ragtag collection of ex-Soldiers ready to enter his domain and his trap, it would mean the elimination of the only true resistance that the city could offer. By week's end he would walk into city hall the victor, and the whole wealth of the city would be his spoils. The remaining Soldiers within Midgar would have no choice but to join his division, and then his power would truly begin to multiply. A laugh rose from his throat, loud and victorious. It was a good start to his campaign.


	17. Seventeen

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

**: : The Past Concluded : :**

_**Conference Room #2, City Hall**_

The floor of the room was buried in folding chairs and feet, tables shoved aside to the corners to make room for the thirty plus individuals present. At the head of the room was a large map of sector one, highlighted lines and arrows forming a intricate rune of detail centered on an industrial complex. Standing present by this map were Rude, Stoke, and Reeve, representatives of the groups they addressed. Reno and Elena sat at the front of the audience, both disinterested in the details of the conversation. Atma sat with her former comrades-in-arms, part and somehow apart of them. Lari kept to the back, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. Every other man and woman, Soldiers all, paid due attention to the forming operation. It had been a strained wait as they had filtered in from the empty sectors, the police near to paranoia about even the smallest incident. However, there were no instances of Soldiers doing anything but break the law for necessities or revenge on their comrades. When the last man reported for work, everyone was gathered together to get the plan discussed, finalized, and started; no one wanted to spare the rogue Soldiers even a minute's peace.

"Alright, I gotta admit to something that I've been keepin' secret from y'all," Stoke began. "Namely who the commander is.

"The guy's name is Else Gratz, otherwise called Occisor. He's a first class Soldier Battalion Commander, one of three that protected Midgar back in the day. Never met the guy in person, but you didn't have to t' know him. He's a hypocritical bastard, but you'd never see a better tactician in the field. He was one of Heidegger's favorites." He chuckled darkly. "Heard someone once said if Sephiroth had brains for muscle, you'd get Occisor. Anyway, what this means for us is we're gonna have one hell of a fight. Occisor won't lead his men personally, but he'll pick out tough muscle to do the dirty work for him. Guy's got a knack for inspiring people to follow orders. He won't take any shit from his subordinates."

"The point?" Lari asked loudly.

Stoke nearly snapped something at her before restraining himself. "Sorry. He's the kind of guy that gets people talking."

"We _know_ that, so tell us how to fight the ass."

"Yeah yeah." Stoke took a moment, then continued. "Right. To fight him, we're gonna need to make a lotta dangerous choices. He'll think we're gonna stick to Soldier strategies, an' that'll give us an edge. If we keep it simple, he'll overcomplicate matters an' fuck himself over before he knows it. We gotta keep mobile, keep hidden, an' keep using the best of what we got. Materia would be perfect. Explosives, too. Odds are is we gotta take out three or four o' them for every one of us, so everyone has to carry their weight. You Turks," he pointed at Rude, "are somethin' he can't plan for, so you gotta use every trick in the book. That's the one edge we got that he can't compensate for. Other'n that, it's straightforward. Since they'll be defendin' their base, we gotta make the first strike a slaughter. After that they'll be on the move, same as us, an' that gives them the edge. They know their base, we don't."

Stoke turned and pointed at the map of the sector, aiming for the complex. "So it's clear as day why they went here. Good defense and no easy way inside. But, this doesn't mean we can't get in there. I've walked around that place, sneaked in where I could, and it's pretty easy to look in on. Basically there are three main entrances to the south, west, an' east. The west end are some warehouses, so there's roads leadin' in and plenty of open space. Anyone could post outside and see the whole west side without bein' spotted easily. South side's got offices or some shit, but there are apartments nearby with plenty of windows an' roof access. That has the greatest view of the complex, so I want anyone with a knack for sniping to get up there and have a go at 'em. East end is a wall and lots of electronic junk, probably a power station or somethin'. That's the side that you could sneak in though, use the land to stay outta sight.

"Now, as to what's inside that place, god knows. I've seen as many as forty Soldiers in the open, so I'd be willin' to wager there's twice as many of them in this group. I'd even believe an even hundred if Occisor's been busy recruitin'. They're gonna have barracks, training yards, armories, medical rooms, anything you'd expect in a proper military base, an' probably all to the interior to stay outta sight. We'll have to do a three prong, two-staged attack on the place. Come from three sides and take out any enemies on the outside, wait for 'em to rush out and expose themselves, then infiltrate and look for Occisor. I don't need to remind y'all that's he's the target of this mission. The next biggest concern we got is makin' sure no one gets out. If we let even one of those lunatics slip out, they'll go to ground and everyone's back to square one. I want this to be the _first_ and _last_ time we gotta fight a coordinated Soldier army." Stoke crossed his arms and glanced around the room. "Now, what do you all have to say?"

"Beforehand," Rude said from Stoke's side, "I would add my opinion to this. You say we need to split into three groups. Why? Snipers will not be useful for long in such an environment. Your admission to their use of the complex means few Soldiers would be in the open. It would be better suited if they were to accompany two groups, this way they can position themselves at key entrances to the facility."

"Yeah, but they're more than that. You know how a sniper operates? He's got a wingman with eyes to find targets for him. If we set this up right, no one would be able to get out without bein' seen by someone. This'd make sure no one escapes."

"Which is another thing. Why do you emphasize that no one must escape?"

"Hell, you know just as well as I do! Look at that serial killer. Almost a month before he was caught, and dozens of deaths in the meanwhile. Any of them would be the same, but they'd be plottin' revenge and lookin' for allies to work with. It's too big a chance."

"It is doubtful that every member of this division could be labeled as such."

"Prob'ly not, but it's the _idea_ that is. Every one of them has the _idea_ that they can take over this city. Take even the lowest of 'em, they probably think it. If we let them loose, sure, they might not run an operation this serious, but sure as hell they'll look to try...I mean, it's the power they're after! All it'll take is for them to screw themselves up to start this little war all over again."

"By which time we will be prepared to meet them."

Stoke cut the argument down with a swipe of his hand. "Not if we stop it here and now."

"I agree with him, Rude," Reeve added in, "we need to make sure this doesn't happen again. It will be years before Midgar settles down. If we have revolts every few months, nothing will come of the work we put into this."

Rude looked at each man, then nodded his head and stood back in deference to them. Stoke, perturbed at being questioned, forced a cough and returned to the map. "Anyway, we'll send the biggest team in through the east, keep to cover long enough to get in. It's gonna have to be quick an' dirty, so let's not get wrapped up in procedure. You see an enemy, you waste him, simple as that. The snipers are gonna have the toughest time, though. Unless they got good memory, we gotta have somethin' to identify a friendly from a mark. Somethin' not obvious, 'less we give it away and they start stealin'..."

Reno, having ignored most of what was going on, finally rolled his eyes in defeat to boredom; the hangover playing havoc with his head didn't help. He stood up, interrupting the discussion.

"Reno?" Reeve said.

"Smokebreak, yo," he replied flatly, easing his way through the rows of chairs.

In the hall outside, he stepped to the side and rested against the wall, hands in pocket, an eye turned to the door. Sure enough it opened again and Elena stepped out, looking the opposite way before noticing him. She narrowed her glare at him as the door clicked shut. "You don't smoke."

A grin. "I'd start if I had to listen to that much longer."

Elena huffed a sigh, crossing her arms.

"Let's go," he said, standing up and heading for the lobby.

"Where?" she asked, falling in.

"Anywhere other than here. Beer?"

She looked aghast at the word. "At _noon_?"

"Gotta drink yourself sober."

"That's hardly a reason!"

"S'good enough for me."

They walked through the open doors to the street outside, the sky clear and the sun bright overhead. Reno aimed himself towards the market street, knowing a few holes in the wall that served early. Elena kept up with him, but her expressions were all disappointment or anger or anything else in the spectrum. The only reason he worried was her silence, her lack of will to argue him back into the conference, or even just a reprimand for anything. This was as radical a change since they were reunited those weeks ago. Did their drunken tryst break down more than just physical barriers? For once, he felt a nagging worry that wouldn't go away in the front of his mind. He had redefined their relationship last night. What changes did she see in him, and what changed in her? What did she see him as now? Could any sort of friendship remain, her pining for a love he didn't possess?

"Are you just running away again?"

The question was posed in no innocent manner. Reno stopped, looking back and seeing that she had already stood still, gaze caustic.

"Are you..." She choked on the word, trying to come out with it. "What are...what..._what are we supposed to do_?"

"Do?" he parroted.

"About _us_!" She stepped up to him, closing the gap. "You know how I feel about you."

"And you know the same," he replied easily.

She came even closer, arms darting between his and clasping him in a tight hug; Reno had to resist bringing his arms up to return the gesture. Elena stayed there, head resting against his shoulder, for several seconds. Each one felt like a lead weight being thrown on them, adding to burdens already so heavy. She eventually looked up at him, eyes glimmering wet.

"Reno, I can't just ignore what I feel. This didn't just _happen_. We aren't just _friends_ any longer. If this isn't love, then what is it? What _are_ we?"

That was the question. Reno had debated this since the morning, wondering the same thing. He couldn't treat what happened like any other one night stand; this had been coming for a long time. Elena was his friend, he admitted, more than a comrade or a fellow Turk. She knew things about him that he never told others, saw things in him he never expected others to see. He knew just as much about her as well. No one else was really that close to him, not even Rude. She was his foil, he was her guard. Even though she was acting like any other lovestruck woman he had sex with, she wasn't pining for perfect romance and love. No, all she had wanted to know was how he felt. She wanted to know where they stood. Nothing forced, nothing but the facts between them. Ironic, he thought, that she already answered their mutual question this morning: _'I know you feel the same way about me'_. He felt a small grin tug at his lips, because he didn't have an answer any better than hers. What were they, anyway? Two confused people trying to find a common ground, trying to boil emotions and feelings down to a science that could give them a clear answer. Maybe there wasn't one. Maybe all they had was groping in darkness to find their way. Maybe, he admitted, they had to stick together to the end to find out the answer. His arms reached upwards, hands taking her shoulders. Her expression looked delicate enough to break with a word. Never being good with them, he chose another route.

"I don't know," he said, and leaned down to kiss her.

Her eyes lit in surprise, but slowly lidded shut as she leaned into him, arms holding him closer. Seconds later, years later, lips parted, eyes opened. They held one another like that for a moment longer, then parted and stood face to face.

"Reno?" she asked, breathy. "Why?"

"What do you want me to say? This isn't love. I don't know _what_ this is. All I know is..."

"...Is?" she prodded.

He frowned, embarrassed. He couldn't meet her eyes. "Is...you're...important to me. You're like a part I need to keep functioning. You're a more than a friend, but...god, I'm not makin' any sense here, am I?"

"It's okay. I think I understand."

"Mind explaining it to me?"

She reached out and took his hand in hers, threading fingers together, leading him to continue walking down the street. "I think it's something words can't do justice. Maybe...it's something you experience, something you learn."

A twist of anger made his brows narrow. "Then why all this shit about confessin' myself to you?"

"I just want to know if you're gonna see where this goes. You and me, together. You can't walk this path alone."

"Just where _are_ we going, anyway?"

A smirk lit her face as she looked back at him. "Beer."

"Still?"

"Yeah. I don't think they'll miss us."

* * *

"Mister Reeve?"

Said individual turned his head back, seeing Stoke weave between the departing crowd of Soldiers. "Yes?"

"A quick question before I go. I don't mean to sound paranoid, but you _sure_ this is clear with the mayor and his cronies?"

Reeve nodded. "Yes. Hart wants this threat stopped before any more harm comes to Midgar. Some counselors are worried about your people, but they won't argue. Even if they do, I'll stall them."

"How so?"

"Let me worry about that. The operation will take place no matter what."

Stoke seemed concerned, but masked his expression carefully. "Okay. I'm trustin' you."

"So am I."

"Well, see 'ya."

"Good luck out there."

He lifted a hand as he departed, settling his cowboy hat firm on his head. "Sure, we'll need it."

Reeve waited for them to leave, only Rude hanging behind. It would only be a handful of hours until the start of the operation, a midnight raid on the complex to put an end to this. He wondered, and hoped, about their odds. Soldiers were a legendary group of men and women, unchallenged since the war with Wutai years ago. Would that same edge be of use against others of their kind? Thirty Soldiers against a possible one hundred, and their only ace were the Turks. Reeve glanced at Rude, who was looking over the map of the complex. A psychopathic serial killer in a blue suit was the smallest label attached to them. They were feared just as much as Soldiers, even more if you heard the right stories. He had no idea what kind of training a Turk underwent, or what kind of missions they went on besides recruiting and assassinations. How did the President's chosen stack up against the President's elite? Was it really the best way, to force those three to seek out and neutralize the enemy commander?

"Do you think they will succeed?"

Reeve was startled a moment, surprised the Turk had spoke. "Who?"

"The Soldiers," he answered, not breaking his eyes away from the map.

"Well...they _are_ Soldiers. There isn't a more feared army in the world."

"Yes, but this time they will be facing their own kind."

The architect arched an eyebrow in concern. "Why do you bring it up? Is something bothering you?"

Rude didn't show any physical sign of worry. "I can't help but think that there is something we're missing here. The Soldier program has been full of secrets since it's beginnings. Nothing is what it seems when they are involved."

"What do you think?"

"I don't know, but...something doesn't seem right about this." He turned away from the map, nudging his sunglasses in place. "Reeve, you must be on guard here. We can stop the Soldiers, but that will leave you exposed to others. It would do no good if they returned to finish the job they began."

"Yeah." He patted his coat, motioning to something beneath. "I've got this just in case. I hope I won't need it."

"So do I."

Reeve sighed, looking away to somewhere distant. Everything was coming together, for better or worse. How long ago was it that he was detailing the blueprints for plate six, completely ignorant of the crisis festering in the city of his design? From architect to half-baked politician in a battle for the remnants of said city. Where would he be in another five months? He saw Rude walk out of the conference room without a word, leaving him alone. Without really thinking he planted himself in front of the map, arms limp at his sides, and looked at it. Arrows and lines all aimed inwards, all aimed for some point within the complex that held the source of this new cancer in Midgar. The momentum leading to this conflict was like a runaway train, threatening to run off the rails and into catastrophe. Could they control these events to keep everything under control, or was it already beyond help? _'Can we survive another crisis...or is this the end for my city? The end for all of us...'_

"Thinkin' yourself a way out of this?" a voice commented, bitter and angry.

Reeve looked back to see who it was, hardly needing to exert the effort: no one made such a dark impression as the police chief, no matter his mood. "Yes."

Varik grunted. His normal scowl seemed deeper, more lined within his face. The chief didn't seem to be carrying his responsibilities well, judging from that. "Well, you coulda let me in on this. Think we can't make a difference out there?"

"I-"

"Don't forget, _you_ were the one who wanted us kept outta this. Having second thoughts?"

He narrowed his eyes, already tired of his sniping attitude. "I'm worried, yes, but it isn't because of your absence. Things are tough enough without you here."

The chief let the insult slide, grinning. "Well, things just got tougher. I want in on this."

"The sector police need-"

"Shut the hell up an' listen for once! I said _I_ want in, not the sector police. Me."

"You?"

"Yes, me! Those fuckers've made me look like an idiot time after time. It's like they know just what buttons to push to set me off. It's driving me insane! If you're gonna go after them, I want my fair share of this so I can even the score."

Reeve frowned, nearly scowling in return. "This isn't for revenge, Varik, it's to stop them from destroying this city!"

"Yeah, a noble cause, sure, but you know that's never the whole reason. You want to kill those fuckers just as much as I do. If it's for the public good, so much the better."

"That's bullshit!"

"That's life! Haven't you got it, yet? You can call it whatever you like, but in the end it's just might makes right. We keep them pinned down so we can live easier lives on their efforts. Someone's gotta rule over the weak, so why not us?"

"Because that's the sort of logic that creates evil like Shinra!"

Varik hesitated at the parallel, scrambling for words. Reeve used the opportunity to continue his tirade.

"You think might makes right is all there is to life? When will _you_ learn that the strong have to help the weak? Both have to work together to survive in this world! That's why I don't want to see you out there, all you'd do is kill for revenge, never knowing where it will end. Tell me that, Varik, how many people have to die until you'll be satisfied? How many?"

"I-It isn't like that!" he sputtered.

"But you just said as much, or was that just another lie?"

The chief glared at the architect. "You callin' me a liar?"

He returned the gaze, not wavering in his strength. "I'm calling you on your bullshit. You said might makes right, then said it isn't like that. Which is it?"

Several seconds passed, the chief clearly thinking it over in his mind. Reeve waited until it seemed like he might answer and leapt in again, adding insult to injury. "Can't make up your mind? Are you scared that you might not be as hard as you think?"

"Fuck you! I know what I believe in!"

"Then tell me the truth! Which is it?"

Varik turned away, seething with palpable rage. He threw the doors open with a crash and disappeared, leaving a storm of emotion in his wake. Reeve slouched, exhaling a pent in breath and feeling all the more drained. Varik had been so busy with his operation in Sector Three that he nearly forgot how aggravating the man was. What luck that he found the time to vent when they didn't need the distraction. _'Who needs enemies with friends like these...'_

He turned back to look at the map for a moment, then he also walked out of the room. He couldn't fight with them, and neither could he through Cait. For now, all that was left was to wait.

* * *

When Rude opened the door he paused, letting it close unattended. He saw Atma resting by the adjacent wall, arms crossed and one eye aimed at him. For a few seconds they remained there, each one trying to guess the mindset of the other right then. Neither could see beyond the barriers they possessed, whether tinted lenses or glowing cataracts. Each saw a mystery in the other, a puzzle that unconscious whim had wanted to solve since their first meeting. A mutual connection seemed made, then, that this was a chance to do just that.

"Do you-" they both said in tandem, stopping in small surprise. A few seconds more passed before Atma stood up and faced him, eyes locked onto his sunglasses, trying to pry beneath them. "Do you have some time?" she finally managed.

"Yes," said Rude.

"Coffee?" she asked, not hiding the emphasis of all the other questions loaded into that one word.

"Sure," he replied, taking on the burden of helping her search for the answers to all that went unspoken. Since Reno and Elena were nowhere around, he didn't need to consider their reactions to this. For whatever reason, Atma chose him to talk to since her stay at the hospital and her conversion from professional Soldier to...what? He knew that the same question was the motivation for her to seek him out now. As to what she was leading him into, he didn't have a clue.

"I know a place." With that, she walked down the hall, slowing a little to allow Rude to follow by her side.

She led the way down the battered hallway in silence, passing Varik coming from the other direction without so much as a hint of recognition. Once outside the building, she went down the street and towards one of the revitalized neighborhoods. The number of people out was staggering, a crowd that seemed incredibly out of place in a city that so many had abandoned. People headed to business, others to relax and point out new icons of their reborn town. Men and women at work building homes seemed the primary source of bodies, sidewalks and new alleys coated in sawdust or materials waiting for use. All this a temporary solution before the Edge City project was complete, a way to keep the people of Midgar here and keep the city alive. The new buildings reflected this, standardized and still fresh looking, built only to last just long enough. However, a few places ignored the nature of their birth and were decorated with love and care, treated as permanent homes for their tenants. One such place was a tiny storefront, a large wood sign painted in impossibly intricate script to say two small words: The Fix. Atma stood in front of it as if staring at a mountain that needed to be climbed. Rude waited by her side silently, smelling coffee intermingled with wood and paint. If she really wanted his help, the initiative had to be hers. Slowly she stepped up to the door, lifted a hand, and delicately pushed it open. The café was small, a personal place with barely a half dozen tables and as many stools in front of the counter. Atma looked around at the establishment, seeming to appraise the style before stepping further in. She sat in the nearest booth, and Rude slid in the opposite side. Just as the waitress leaned out from the counter to address them, he lifted a hand to interrupt.

"Two coffees, one black, one sugar," he asked.

The waitress narrowed her eyes, but nodded and remained silent to attend the order. Rude returned his attention to Atma, the woman looking as anxious and nervous as a teenager.

"What did you need to speak about?" Rude asked.

"Something personal," Atma answered uneasily. "Something that I want to understand."

"About?"

Her eyes struggled to maintain contact with his. "How do you live with your guilt?"

The question threw the Turk off mental balance, the unexpected innocence of such a serious and grave matter sounding almost mocking or judgmental. He knew, though, that she never had judged him or anyone else she interacted with by means of words, but by actions. If she had to ask about this, it meant it was something beyond her experience, something her newfound morals struggled to understand. He ignored the server as she gave them their drinks, considering how to answer, considering why she chose him to ask this of.

"How can you live with it," she continued, "live knowing what you've done? How can anyone cope with the memory of their crimes? I've been trying to understand why I did these things, to justify them, but I don't know how. So...how do you do it?"

Rude closed his eyes, hidden by his shades. There was little choice but to be literal in his answer, explicit and simple. He looked back up suddenly, knowing exactly why she asked him. If you had to ask a question and get a straight, clear answer, who else but the 'Turk who never embellishes the truth?' His reputation outdid his personality once again. He answered her question straightforward. "You can't."

Atma stared at him, eyes unusually open in surprise. "Can't?"

Rude nodded, and after a moment reached up and removed his sunglasses so that they could look at one another without that obstruction misconstruing his words. "You can't justify cruel acts no matter the circumstances. Murder is murder, destruction is destruction. The only thing you can do is accept that human nature is as cruel as it is kind, that they are a necessary part of one another."

"S-So you're saying that there's no justice?"

"There _is_ justice, but it is not a solid and tangible thing. One man's justice is another man's atrocity. What we call justice is ultimately punishment equal to the weight of a crime. We do that in the hope to dissuade them from committing other crimes. We dispense evil to those who do evil, and good to those who do good. They never cancel one another out, but most people accept that as a suitable answer. Living by something deeper, more complex, often leaves them at the mercy of truths they don't want to admit."

"But...then how-"

"You accept what you have done, both good and bad, and move on."

Her eyes quivered at the hard logic, hands spread on the table as if holding tight to it. "But I feel like a monster for what I've done!"

"Surely not all you have done is evil. You've done many good things with your life, even in the short time I've known you. No one can ever be perfect and cause no harm. Being as you are is what makes you human."

"But-"

"Delita, _listen_." Rude placed his hand over hers, catching her eyes and waiting for the surprise to settle. "Guilt is the mind's way of telling us when we've done wrong. But, it also reminds us to do good. If you push it away, you will never be at ease. I've tried and it still haunts me every day. What seems to be the only constant, the only reliable solution, is to make amends for what we've done in the way our heart thinks is best. Some people bear their guilt and martyr themselves with it, some turn to religion in hopes of forgiveness, and some do good deeds to try and balance the two out. Acceptance of our faults, our crimes, is the only way to overcome them. Whatever the case may be, you have to confront it or they will consume you."

The words seemed to knock any strength out of the Soldier, leaving her looking vulnerable. "So...what should I do?"

Rude withdrew his hand slowly. It felt like he was talking to a completely different woman. "You should find a solitary place, somewhere away from people and familiar things, and rest. The answer will come to you when you are ready."

"Is that what you did," she asked innocently, "to find your answer?"

Rude put his sunglasses back on and stood up from the table, ignoring the untouched coffee. He looked down at Atma, wondering just how many changes she had undergone in the few days since her hospitalization, and how many more were still to come. He still wondered why she chose a Turk, the merciless and murderous assassins of a power-hungry dictator, to act as her moral guide. Was passing familiarity all she had in connection to those around her? Was it that and history that drew her to him? He felt strangely scared, that she trusted him enough to place her moral compass in his hands to tune and set in the right path. For a faint memory, for a woman he knew less than a month, to be held in such faith seemed an impossible thing to accept. Was this the right thing to do?

"I'm still waiting for mine," he murmured, turning and leaving the café.

The answer eluded him.


End file.
